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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25920622">A Rose Among Thorns</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MulticoloredRosePetals/pseuds/MulticoloredRosePetals'>MulticoloredRosePetals</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Rose Among Thorns [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera &amp; Related Fandoms, Phantom - Susan Kay, Phantom of the Opera</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Animal Death, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Human Trafficking, Kay-based, M/M, Persia, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:42:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>100</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>168,925</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25920622</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MulticoloredRosePetals/pseuds/MulticoloredRosePetals</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A dark magician is gifted a wife. To his surprise, she chooses to stay. But as tensions grow in the Persian Court, enemies of the Angel of Death find out that he has a weakness after all. Kay-based. E/C. COMPLETE ***SEQUEL OUT NOW***</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Christine Daaé &amp; Erik | Phantom of the Opera</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Rose Among Thorns [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2168646</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>396</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>167</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Gift</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The characters in this story are not meant to reflect real people, historical or current.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the middle of the nineteenth century, the city of Tehran was a cultural and political hub of Persia.</p><p>In the city, one was likely to find sprawling architecture - some of which was European-influenced but mostly consisted of vibrant tile-worked buildings and elaborate stonework; beautiful paintings, full of colors that vastly contradicted yet complemented one another and depicted bright, lovely women; paintings of royalty, and these were just as rich and vivid.</p><p>And, of course, the royalty was the focal point of the city itself. The royal family of the Golestan Palace.</p><p>The Shah of Persia knew he ruled his nation with absolute control; his word was quite literal law. And, as such, he took what he desired and gave very little care for the consequences. This was not to say that he gave little thought to his actions. Actually, the Shah was quite creative. One of his more creative projects was his Palace Garden.</p><p>The women chosen to be Flowers in the Garden were carefully selected.</p><p>The Shah instructed members of court, willing to travel abroad, to search for the prettiest girls they could find in the countries they visited, abduct them, and return them to Persia - but they were to do so in stealth, unnoticed, undetected by police or government. In Persia, the girls were trained to be a part of the Garden, a unique kind of harem. But this harem wasn't for the Shah - he had a harem of his own, full of Persian girls. The harem of foreign women was for his visiting guests or his favored court members.</p><p>As was expected, the Shah made sure to pluck his girls before they were an official piece of his small attraction.</p><p>I was a Flower in this Garden.</p><p>I'd been living with my father in Paris; Gustave Daae: he was a violinist, known for his absolute talent and passion for his instrument. We were not wealthy, but were comfortable enough to afford a fairly decent flat in the city. And I loved the city. I especially loved it at twilight - the lovely purple sky dotted with stars, the architecture lit by yellow streetlights. And the art and music that emerged. It was Heaven.</p><p>Every night, before my father would attend a small concert, he would beg of me: "Christine, please do not go out walking alone."</p><p>And I always told him I wouldn't. But I always did.</p><p>I was never in any danger. I stayed away from the slums, from the alleys. I stayed where gentlemen and ladies walked.</p><p>I hadn't noticed the men trailing me.</p><p>I hadn't known, either, that they'd been trailing me for over a week.</p><p>The way they'd pulled me aside, covered my mouth, and put my hands behind me, before stuffing me into a waiting carriage, had been so graceful and quick that not even I realized what was happening when it happened. No one had seen it; the street I'd been walking on at that moment wasn't as crowded as others.</p><p>I asked them, heart pounding and head spinning, who they were, but they didn't say.</p><p>I asked them to take me home to my father, and they answered back, accents thick with a language I'd never heard, that my father was dead. That they'd made sure to take care of him before they took me.</p><p>They gagged my mouth again before I could scream, cry, and protest. And, when I scrambled to open the door of the carriage, they bound my wrists behind me.</p><p>And I was left, throat emitting muffled sobs, in a carriage with two men I'd never met, headed to an unknown location, not knowing if I'd be killed as well.</p><p>- - - - - - - - -</p><p>The entire journey, they refused to tell me where I was going. But I was sure that weeks were passing. They'd threatened me enough that when we stopped at inns and taverns to rest, I didn't resist or ask for help. They claimed that I was a daughter, a sister, a niece, a wife. And there came a point that I wouldn't have been able to ask for help as it was - the language spoken in the surrounding area changed week to week.</p><p>The voyage came to end end when I was at last taken to a grand palace in a new, unknown city. I felt like a rag-doll being dragged through the palace by people who spoke the same language as my captors, to a room full of women of all different skin shades - and, as I'd learn later, of all different nationalities. Some looked on me with pity, some with interest. Most looked at me with indifference.</p><p>That night, I was informed of why I was here. I went to my new bed crying.</p><p>A week later, I'd been dried of tears. I'd been dried of hope as well. Only Amir, my harem trainer - a eunuch who spoke broken French - could communicate with me. He was kind - but he made it quite clear that there was no going back to France.</p><p>Within a month, I'd decided that this was my life now. And I realized quite quickly that there was very little comradery amongst the girls. They'd apparently been broken enough that they saw one another as enemies and competitors. Amir informed me that if the Shah's guest chose a girl for the night, that girl was rewarded greatly with jewelry or beautiful clothes, and that there was a common idea that if a girl never attracted any man, that she was unfit to be a part of the Garden and would be sold to a local brothel - a much less appealing prospect.</p><p>When he wasn't training me, he spoke to me. Sometimes it was about something as trivial as breakfast; sometimes he divulged goings-on in the palace (that particular topic, I don't think he was supposed to speak of - but who was I going to blabber to, anyway?). One topic he spoke semi-frequently of was someone called The Angel of Death.</p><p>The Angel of Death was a magician, a dark one. He'd come to Persia very recently, and though he started by performing simple magic tricks for the Shah's mother, those tricks turned quickly into fanciful, wonderful, terrible, creative deaths - an entertainment of morbidity. And, too, he had an appearance to match his dark deeds. He was as tall as he was thin, and his hands were naught but palms attached to long, bony, cold fingers.</p><p>And his face.</p><p>His face was mostly covered, but the Shah's mother, the Little Khanum, would often request that he remove his mask. And when he did, women would scream and men would shrink away. His face, like his body, looked like death.</p><p>I found the tales of The Angel of Death fascinating, thinking about him sometimes while I trained. My training didn't involve practicing with other people, not even Amir, but instead it consisted of me learning how to move my own body and what to do with other people's bodies. It also involved becoming physically strong, so that I could perform any and all acts a man would want of me. Apparently, after three months of this, I would be handed to the Shah to complete the final phase of these lessons - actually lying with a man.</p><p>And I dreaded the day.</p><p>I didn't want to lie with a man I didn't even know. And I especially didn't want to lie with multiple men I didn't know.</p><p>But, as I had accepted, there was no escaping this. I was here, and there was no real way for me to leave. Even if I attempted to run, the palace guards knew my face by this point. And I'd surely stick out among the dark-skinned citizens of Tehran. If my captors had told the truth, then my father was dead and I had no home to run away to. I had no way of knowing if that was true.</p><p>I'd never know.</p><p>But I held hope that it was a lie.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>Three months did pass. I'd lost some weight in that time, had gained some strength in my legs and arms. I'd learned the full male anatomy and had learned various positions and techniques to be an effective lover.</p><p>But it wasn't the Shah I'd be taken to.</p><p>No.</p><p>Amir came to me, his tan face strangely pale, as he told me my fate.</p><p>I wouldn't be a member of The Garden. I'd be a gift, instead. A permanent gift to the Shah's favorite member of court. The most feared man in Persia.</p><p>The Angel of Death.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Angel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bath was warm, but I felt ice in my veins. The goose-flesh wouldn't leave my arms and legs, and with every fresh thought of my fate, the chills intensified.</p><p>I was to be the personal plaything of a madman.</p><p>By this point, I wasn't ashamed of my body being bare around Amir - I'd been nude before him so many times that it lost its effect on me. He hadn't reacted at all when I'd first been naked - quivering, scared, never having been bare in front of a man before - and he gently scolded that I would need to get over that fear quickly if I was to be a Flower in The Garden.</p><p>I didn't want to be a Flower in The Garden, but that was well outside the point.</p><p>Perhaps I should have wanted it. Now I was a bouquet being handed to the Devil himself.</p><p>He stood behind me, instructing the slave girl who bathed me. She picked up a bottle of hair soap, poured some into her hand, and scrubbed it into my curly brown strands. Some of the suds found their way down my forehead and near my eyes, and I lifted a trembling hand to wipe them away. He must have thought that I was crying, for I heard him sigh and come closer to the tub.</p><p>"Little Rose," he said softly. All of the girls were renamed for flowers - I'd been dubbed The Rose. "I give thought," he continued in his broken French, "to situation."</p><p>I looked at him. His young face was sober, thoughtful. I predicted that he was a little older than me. I wondered how he ended up as a eunuch, how he'd learned French. "What do you mean?" I asked.</p><p>"Angel of Death is power." He stepped closer, his voice softening. "You please Angel, you are power, too."</p><p>I stared at him, trying to comprehend what he meant. I am power too?</p><p>He inhaled in frustration at his own lack of fluency. "Little Rose, listen clear."</p><p>I nodded. The slave girl poured water over my head, the suds running down my shoulders. Unless she spoke French, which I doubted, she was clueless as to what we were saying.</p><p>Amir held out a hand. I lifted a soaked arm from the water and placed my hand in his. He squeezed it comfortingly - and the effect was immediate. I felt some ice thaw. In all honesty, he was closest thing I had now to a friend, and I was loathe to leave him.</p><p>"You show no fear." His voice was full of command. "You show...you show..." He grimaced, looking for the word.</p><p>"Bravery?"</p><p>"Bravery." He smiled. "You show bravery, you please Angel, and you are power."</p><p>And then I understood his meaning. I was to be a wife of the most powerful man in Persia. If I exuded confidence rather than my true feelings of fear, if I did my best to please him, then some of that power could rub off on me, too.</p><p>The only problem with that was that I had no use for power. I didn't want power. I desired freedom. All my life, I'd lived by the idea that I was free - free to explore the city, free to go where I pleased. But that freedom had been stripped from me. I wanted it back desperately.</p><p>I didn't voice any of this. Amir was trying to help - and he was helping. His words gave me a semblance of hope that I wasn't going to spend the rest of my life in a living nightmare. There was something I could control - how I acted, how I presented myself. I had no say in what happened to me.</p><p>But I had full command of my reaction.</p><p>My bath ended. I now smelled like roses, as if petals of that flower were in my very blood and bones, as if they lined the fibers of my skin and hair. The slave girl helped me into the clothes I'd be presented to the Angel in: a red silk strip that wrapped around my breasts, but left my waist, arms, and shoulders uncovered; two sheets of that very same fabric that were tied around my hips and hung from my front and back, revealing the sides of my legs; an opaque pink veil that covered my face. My feet were left bare.</p><p>I was walked from the room and into the corridors of the Golestan Palace by two eunuchs, including Amir, and someone Amir called the Daroga; my face was cast down. If I imagined that no one was looking at me as I walked, then I didn't have to think about it. But, even still, I felt eyes on me. I heard whispers. I could only imagine what was being said: did they know who I was going to? Did they think I was simply going to the Shah?</p><p>The further we walked - up staircases, down long hallways, out into the open air and back inside - the weaker my legs became and the faster my heart beat. I tried to catch my breath, but I felt it come in and out so shallow that I thought, perhaps, I would run out of air altogether and faint. Still, I kept on, remembering Amir's words: You are power, too.</p><p>I didn't feel like power, but if I could pretend, maybe I'd convince others. Maybe I'd convince this Angel of Death. Maybe I'd even convince myself.</p><p>At last, we arrived. The Daroga, a man in a blue uniform, tall black hat, and glasses, knocked on a grand door at the end of a long corridor, in the southern most part of the palace's top floor. Several seconds passed, and then the door audibly unlocked and opened, revealing an extremely tall and thin man clad in black and gold robes, a mask of matching colors on his face. The ribbon that strapped the mask to his face was scarlet, as was the silk ribbon around his slight waist. The only pieces of skin uncovered were his hands - which, indeed, reminded me of a skeleton's - and his lower lip and chin. His eyes were mismatched green and brown, and his hair held the color and shine of ink.</p><p>The Angel of Death.</p><p>Power flowed from him - the way he stood, the way his eyes trained themselves on the Daroga - told me that he held within him a dangerous kind of confidence. That he was a man not to be reckoned with, that he had great influence over his surroundings and was very aware of that fact. He crossed his arms over his chest, a frown on his masked face. He spoke to the Daroga in Persian - and I nearly jumped at the utter beauty the sound of his voice created. As he spoke, his eyes trailed lazily past him, over the eunuchs, and finally landed on me. The words stopped short in his throat.</p><p>Immediately, in his gaze, I saw both utter shock and the beginnings of what looked like desire.</p><p>My heart skipped a beat.</p><p>The Daroga cleared his throat and began a speech - though I could only pick out a few Persian words I'd heard several times. Shah. Flower. Garden. Gift. Wife. As he spoke, the Angel's eyes remained firmly fixed on me, his chest rising and falling steadily, not moving a muscle. When the speech was over, the Angel turned his gaze to the Daroga, and in them, I saw anger and hate. His hands became claws at his side, and he said something to the eunuchs. His voice was now harsh, having lost its previous loveliness.</p><p>He must have asked for them to bring me forward, for Amir gently pushed me to the front of the group. The Angel fixed his blazing eyes on me once more. He reached out a hand and removed the veil from my face, placing the fabric over my head. He asked me a question, but I had no idea what he said. The phrase sounded familiar, but I couldn't quite place it. I opened my mouth, trying to remember if I'd heard the phrase for "I don't know" in Persian. The Angel narrowed his eyes and asked the question again.</p><p>Amir cleared his throat behind me and whispered, "Your name."</p><p>Relief. "Christine," I said softly.</p><p>The Angel's eyes widened as he looked from me, to Amir, to me again. "French."</p><p>He understood French. "Yes."</p><p>His eyes whipped to the Daroga and he demanded something in Persian. The Daroga shifted uncomfortably on his feet and responded, voice soft. The rage in the Angel's eyes grew and his voice turned venomous as he spat harsh, jagged words at him. The Daroga's lips thinned. The Angel turned back to me.</p><p>"If you're interested to know what I said," he said in - to my shock - perfect French, "I informed Monsieur Khan that I have no need for kidnapped sex-slaves. Good afternoon."</p><p>He turned and began closing the door, when the Daroga - Monsieur Khan, apparently, said something softly that stopped him. He froze and whirled, eyes full of fire, and retorted something emphatically. Monsieur Khan responded again. The Angel's eyes went to me, frustration and utter annoyance in them.</p><p>"My dear," he said, his voice once again beautiful, "do you understand the duties that you were brought here to perform?"</p><p>"Yes." Again, my legs felt weak. I remembered that Amir was behind me and tried to stop them from quivering, tried to hold my head up a little higher.</p><p>"Very well." He nodded. "I have seen your face. Come forward, remove my mask, and see mine."</p><p>Memories of what Amir said of his appearance flashed through my mind. Death. He supposedly looked like death. But, again, I knew I had to be brave - and if not be brave, then act brave. I had to pretend. I walked forward, feeling like I was in a fever dream, and reached up a hand. He watched me, motionless, as I removed the gold and black silk from his face.</p><p>I had to stop the scream that threatened to escape itself from my throat. This was made especially difficult due to the gasps and declarations of disgust that came from Amir and the other eunuch behind me. The Daroga didn't react at all - I assumed he'd already seen his face.</p><p>The most prominent, jarring feature he held was that, rather than a nose, he had two gaping holes in the center of his face. His eyes and cheeks were sunken, giving a skull-like appearance. His upper lip was grotesquely swollen and asymmetrical, and his skin was colored yellow in places, his cheeks and forehead spider-webbed with blue veins.</p><p>I felt as though I may vomit.</p><p>He watched me steadily. "Were you informed of the consequences if you do not complete the duties that you were ordered to perform?"</p><p>"Death," I whispered automatically. I knew it well - it had been hammered into me for months.</p><p>"Yes. That is what our friend the Daroga just told me. Now, I am trying to prove a point to the Shah, that his gift is wasted on me. Tell me, my dear Christine, wouldn't you rather die than lay with me?"</p><p>Would I rather die? I blinked. The concept of being chained to the dark magician of Persia sounded nightmarish, but if I wanted to die, I would have made that happen by now; I would have fought back against my captors, refused to train, insulted the Shah.</p><p>"No," I whispered. "I wouldn't rather die."</p><p>He stared at me, sudden surprise in his eyes. He seemed to expecting some change in my countenance, some lie. But it was the truth - I didn't want to lie with him, but my desire to stay alive was much stronger than my fear of his bed.</p><p>After a time, he took his mask gently from my grasp and returned it to his face. I felt immediate relief. He shifted back to the Daroga and said something softly. The Daroga nodded, and ordered words at the eunuchs. He turned and they followed, Amir giving me one last nod goodbye before he was gone. Sadness and fear entered my mind at his growing absence, like a child separated from her parents for the first time.</p><p>I turned back to the Angel. He was still watching me intently.</p><p>"I suppose," he said, "I should introduce myself. My name is Erik."</p><p>Erik. A remarkably ordinary name for someone known as the Angel of Death.</p><p>"Fortunately," he continued darkly, "I will not be raping you tonight. Or any other night, for that matter. But, seeing as my turning you away would result in both of our deaths for the insult to the Shah, I will be housing you for the time being. Don't worry -" he gave a wry smile - "I won't even force you to share my bed. I've asked the Daroga to request a bed for you - well, he's requesting a love bed, as I told him I prefer my bed to remain clean. But fear not - that bed is strictly for your use and your use only."</p><p>My mind was blank. He - a sadistic killer - was not behaving at all in the way I'd expected. Maybe this was a trick; perhaps he was playing games with my mind, making me think I was safe, and I'd find myself attacked in the middle of the night.</p><p>"Now," he said, and made an exaggerated flourish of his arm toward his living chambers, inviting me to enter, "I hope you find my home cozy. But I would ask you not to become too comfortable in my chambers. I'm sending you back to France the moment I find you a trustworthy escort."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Guest</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Back to France?" I whispered.</p><p>"That's what I said." Erik's arm remained outstretched. "In, Mademoiselle."</p><p>I didn't immediately enter. Instead, I looked into his chambers. Like much of the Golestan Palace, the white walls were lined with gold and silver. The entire floor was taken up by a red and white rug of swirling, detailed patterns. A chandelier larger than me hung from the high ceiling, and the furnishings of the room were made up of scarlet chairs and couches, as well as midnight-black tables. I spotted a grand piano against the far wall, and on either side of it were floor-to-ceiling windows with blood-red curtains.</p><p>"Mademoiselle," he said sharply, "I would very much like to leave the hallway. Would you prefer to take up residence outside my door? In that case, Christine, please inform any palace guards or members of court that you declined the offer to enter so that I retain my head."</p><p>I looked behind me, into the hallway. Indeed, there were two guards posted at the end of the long corridor, watching.</p><p>My gaze whipped to his. "Are they really making sure I go in?"</p><p>"No, they're there to make sure that no one comes to kill me."</p><p>I blinked.</p><p>"I have quite a long line of enemies, Mademoiselle. And if you'd like to stay off that list, I suggest, I really do, that you enter my chamber."</p><p>I finally obliged, feet swift and head down. He closed the door behind me, locking it - my nerves stood on end at the sound of the click. I went to the center of the room, entirely unsure of what to do with my hands - with my entire body, for that matter - and he motioned at the couch with his bony hand.</p><p>"Sit. Please. Make yourself at home." He started for a door on the left side of the room - so he was given not just a room, but a suite within the palace - and then spun, holding up a finger. "Let me rephrase - make yourself an honored guest. You're not staying."</p><p>He continued to the door, opened it, and disappeared behind it. I went to the couch, gazing at the glittering walls, and sat - and leapt up immediately with a shriek.</p><p>That was not a pillow or cushion I'd sat on.</p><p>I looked down, and found, instead, a Siamese cat glaring up at me with wide blue eyes, pupils slit and ears back in clear annoyance.</p><p>The door Erik disappeared behind burst open and alarm shone in his eyes as he clutched a book, paper, and pen in his hands. "What? What is it?"</p><p>My eyes merely traveled slowly back to the animal curled on the couch. He laughed. "Mademoiselle, you'll have to get over your fear of cats quickly if you're to stay here."</p><p>"I'm not afraid of them," I explained softly. "I just...I didn't realize it was there."</p><p>"She." He frowned. "And she has a name. Ayesha." He moved fluidly to a couch opposite the one I'd nearly sat on and lowered himself onto it. "I must say, I don't entirely adore the practice of calling animals 'it'. They're not objects - they have minds just like the rest of us. I'm sure, even if we don't assign them names, they have given themselves names of their own. They're much smarter than people give them credit for. Much smarter than most people, in fact, and ten times as compassionate."</p><p>I must have been giving him a dubious look, for he cocked his head at me.</p><p>"Perhaps," he said slowly, "you'd like me to turn you into a cat so you can find out for yourself."</p><p>My eyes widened at the memory of the fact that he was a magician. Could he actually do that, if he wanted?</p><p>"It was a joke, Christine. You can laugh."</p><p>I didn't. He sighed.</p><p>"All right, well..." He placed the leather-bound book on his lap, using it as a small table for the paper he looked to be about to write on. I wondered why he didn't simply use the coffee table between the couches. Something in me hinted that perhaps leaning down like that would be a bit too close to bowing - and he didn't seem the type to bow to anyone. He looked at me, his eyes scrolling up and down. "Are you going to sit?"</p><p>I started. "Oh." And sat. Next to the cat, this time. Ayesha continued eyeing me. I avoided her gaze.</p><p>"Now," he continued, "about sending you back. What city, exactly, would I be sending you to?" He placed his pen at the ready.</p><p>I examined his eyes, looking for some kind of malice or trick, but couldn't find any. "You're actually going to send me back?"</p><p>"As soon as I possibly can, yes."</p><p>"I..." I hadn't prepared for this possibility. "Why?"</p><p>"Well, to be frank, my dear..." He smiled. "I don't entirely want you."</p><p>I didn't know what to say. "Why?"</p><p>His smile grew. "A bit narcissistic, aren't you?"</p><p>My face heated. "No, it's not - I -"</p><p>"Oh, yes," he said, waving my embarrassment away with his hand, "I know. I'm aware of how the Garden works. I'm aware, too, of what you were told I'd want. I wasn't going to use you, anyway - but when I realized you were French... Well, I know it was meant to be pleasing to me, but I took it as an insult. Having a girl snatched from my home country is not something I'm exactly tickled over, you see."</p><p>I jolted. "You're French, too?"</p><p>"Yes, Mademoiselle."</p><p>I wasn't sure why I was surprised. It explained his perfect use of the language - but he also seemed to speak very good Persian. I'd simply assumed, perhaps, he was multilingual.</p><p>I felt a bit safer. A bit more at ease - relieved. Despite the fact that I knew what he was, it was as though I was now looking at a small piece of home.</p><p>I didn't forget, of course, that he was a killer. That I shouldn't become too comfortable.</p><p>"Wouldn't you be in some sort of trouble for sneaking me out?" I asked. "I was a gift from the Shah."</p><p>He smirked. "I appreciate the concern, but I'm quite skilled at disappearing acts, my dear."</p><p>I stared at him. Despite his words, there had to be great risk to him. But he was helping me, anyway - though I detected it was because he simply wanted me gone from his home. There were other, more effective ways to rid of me if he'd wanted to - death being one. I shivered. I wondered if he'd eventually come to the same conclusion, or if he would rather not deal with the mess.</p><p>"I'm from Paris," I whispered.</p><p>He nodded. His pen tapped the paper twice. "And where in Paris? I presume you don't want to be dropped just anywhere."</p><p>I opened my mouth, about to answer, and then I remembered.</p><p>I might not have a home to return to at all.</p><p>My face fell.</p><p>"Mademoiselle?" Erik questioned, seeing my expression.</p><p>"My father," I whispered. "They killed him."</p><p>He stilled. "They?" His voice had darkened.</p><p>"My captors."</p><p>His mismatched eyes lit with sudden fire, and I thought the pen might break in his death grip. "Really?"</p><p>"That's what they told me."</p><p>"You didn't see it happen?"</p><p>"No." And glad of it - I would have broken completely.</p><p>He relaxed visibly and looked down at the paper. "Then, fortunately, it may not be true."</p><p>I sat up straighter. "It...?" A small bubble of hope formed in my chest.</p><p>"It may have been a tactic to prevent you from running."</p><p>The bubble turned into a spark. I'd considered this as well, but hearing it from another person's mouth. It really could be the case. And if Erik was willing to send me back...</p><p>"But what if it is true?" I breathed. I knew I shouldn't be giving him a reason not to send me home, but I couldn't help myself. "I'd go back to Paris, but I'd be on the streets. My father was the only family I had."</p><p>"Friends?"</p><p>"No one close enough to take me in."</p><p>His eyes narrowed. "I see." He placed the tip of his pen to the paper. "Then I'll be writing your father, letting him know you're alive. If he writes back, then I'll send you straight to him."</p><p>"And if he doesn't?"</p><p>He looked at me for a long moment. "Then I suppose we shall have to figure it out from there, won't we?"</p><p>Figure it out from there. I hoped what ever it was we'd figure out entailed my staying alive.</p><p>I cast my gaze down at my silk clothes, interlacing the cloth through my fingers, thinking. Even if he did help me, there was no guarantee I'd survive anyway. "Won't the Shah find the letter when you try to send it? Or my father's letter? The mail would be coming to the palace, wouldn't it?"</p><p>He chuckled, and began writing. I watched the graceful strokes of the pen across the paper, listened to the scratching sound. I nearly asked to see it - partly because I still didn't entirely trust him, but mostly because it would be lovely to see writing in my own language again. "Don't worry, Mademoiselle, the Shah won't find out a single thing."</p><p>I looked down again, at the rug. The letter would probably take two months or more to arrive; the same amount of time to return. Four to five months. I could make it that long here. I had to. "Er-" I began, then stopped. I remembered what I was supposed to call him. "Master?"</p><p>"Oh, for God's sake, no."</p><p>My eyes went to his. "Sorry?"</p><p>"Call me Master again, and I will box my own ears." He glared, and then turned his attention back to his writing. "Call me Erik or call me nothing at all."</p><p>"Erik," I whispered.</p><p>"Yes." The scratching of the pen continued.</p><p>"What room will I sleep in?" Would he be placing my bed next to his?</p><p>"The study. There's room in there for a bed."</p><p>Oh. "So it wouldn't be an actual bedroom?" That meant that he would be going in and out as he pleased - it was his study.</p><p>His lower lip thinned; I could see irritation in his eyes. "Well if the study isn't suitable enough for you, you might enjoy the sofa here in the parlor. Or perhaps I could treat you like an actual slave and set up a cot in my room, where I can simply call out your name should I simultaneously want tea and decide my legs don't work. Oh - we could put pillows and sheets in the bathtub! It's porcelain. Excellent for the spine. Or you could-"</p><p>"The study is fine."</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Window</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Four palace servants later arrived with a new bed, complete with a mattress, sheets, pillows, and a blanket. Erik ordered them to move the furniture of the study around to make room for the bed, meaning that my sleeping area was on one side of the room, while his desk, bookshelves, and armchairs were on another. Apparently, he'd also asked the Daroga to send up a dresser with new, more modest clothes for me, as well as personal grooming items - such as soap and a hairbrush.</p><p>"Not that you're not lovely, Mademoiselle," he explained in the doorway to the study, after the servants had left, "but I assume you're used to showing a bit less skin than you are now. European women's clothing isn't exactly known for its revealing nature."</p><p>"I thought you were planning on sending me back right away?" I asked, rummaging through the clothes. "Why ask for an entire dresser?"</p><p>"I didn't know how long you'd be here - who knew when I'd find an escort?" He shrugged with an impish smile. "Besides, it is ever so fun inconveniencing Monsieur Khan. Now," he said, entering the room and sitting on one of the red armchairs, hands resting on either side of him, "I've asked the servants to bring up some dinner for you. I will be heading off soon, so you won't get the distinct pleasure of dining with me, for which I am sure you're disappointed."</p><p>I stared at him, a lump growing in my stomach at my suspicions of his whereabouts. "Where will you be?"</p><p>He sighed, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. "Goodness, you do ask a lot of questions." He paused, and then lowered his gaze to me again, eyes slightly narrow. "Here's a question for you. How old are you? Seventeen?"</p><p>"Eighteen."</p><p>"Ah. Close but no dice."</p><p>"And you?" I asked, genuinely curious. "How old are you?"</p><p>"Another question?"</p><p>I looked down, remembering my place; remembering who I was talking to. "Sorry."</p><p>A moment of silence, and then: "Twenty."</p><p>I gazed at him in surprise. "Twenty?"</p><p>His head cocked. "Is that a problem?"</p><p>"No, it's just..."</p><p>"You thought I was older?"</p><p>I nodded.</p><p>"Yes, I'm told that quite a lot. It must be my ever-so-mature mannerisms and sage wisdom. Or perhaps it's my face that gives the appearance of one who's been in the ground for six months, after dying at the ripe age of ninety-seven."</p><p>Immediate, ice-cold regret.</p><p>"Oh, don't worry, Christine," he said with a drawl, leaning forward, misreading my white expression. "I know I'm quite the handsome devil. It's extremely difficult - painful, even - looking directly into the bright, beautiful sun; I won't take my mask off while you're around. Once was enough, don't you think?"</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>As soon as the servants brought food to the chambers, Erik was gone, leaving me entirely alone in his living quarters. It was, I admit, a surreal experience. This was supposedly the most frightening man in the Persian Empire, the person whose name set criminals and political enemies quaking in their shoes.</p><p>And I was sitting on his couch, wearing brand new (now-decent) clothing, staring at hot tea and reddish-brown stew over rice placed on a golden tray on the coffee table. As I watched the food and drink steam, Ayesha stood from her sleeping spot and stretched, and it was only then that I noticed the collar around her neck - a glittering, perfectly-cut diamond pendant hanging from her throat.</p><p>For whatever Erik was, he clearly cared about and spoiled his pet.</p><p>She didn't look at me as she hopped gracefully from the couch to the floor. She trotted around the coffee table and went to the other couch, only to curl up there. I almost gaped her.</p><p>Well, I apologize my presence annoys you so much, cat. It wasn't exactly my choice to come here. I'm sure you and Erik will share quite a few sentiments tonight about what an inconvenience I am.</p><p>I sighed and looked back down at the food, resting my hands on either side of me. I wasn't exactly keen on eating any of the food brought to me. Erik could have had it poisoned. Or he could have poisoned it himself, using whatever magic he carried in him. I had no idea how poisons worked, but I was sure he'd have no problems making it look like it was an accident. I would be gone from his presence and his life would continue as it had before. The Shah would never be the wiser. And it would certainly be easier than sneaking me out of the country.</p><p>But then, why would he go through the trouble of getting me furniture, telling me he was writing to my father, just to kill me?</p><p>Maybe to lure me into a false sense of security?</p><p>My stomach growled as a whiff of the food caught my nose. I'd developed a bit of a taste for Persian food since coming here - though I thought I'd do anything for a fresh croissant with butter and jam in the morning. I felt my mouth salivate.</p><p>So I had two choices: eat the food and possibly die quickly, or not eat food at all and die slowly and painfully.</p><p>With a deeply sour feeling of anxiety in my stomach, I lifted the spoon to my mouth. It was so good, but with every bite, I imagined my death approaching just around the corner. That didn't stop me from finishing the bowl and all of the tea as well. If I was to perish right here in these chambers, I may as well have a full belly doing it.</p><p>I didn't know what to do with the emptied dish, as there was no kitchen in these rooms, so I left it on the table, hoping he didn't consider it a mess. I stood, suddenly realizing that I had nothing to do and no idea of when he'd return. I could sleep, but I was nowhere near tired, and I didn't dare go into his paper and ink to sketch. I decided on simply going to one of the windows, to the right of the piano. I pulled back the red curtains to find an absolutely exquisite view of the courtyard below. There were people - men, I realized, and only men - walking around, chatting.</p><p>I noticed two men in particular - the Daroga Monsieur Khan in his blue uniform and black cap - and someone in dark clothes with a trimmed beard on his face. They were walking very slowly, their heads together, and I could tell from just looking at them that Monsieur Khan was speaking in hushed tones. The other man was nodding slowly, concentrating, and his eyes traveled upward as he listened. They went up and up until they landed, at last, on me. He held out a hand to Monsieur Khan's chest, stopping him. He used his other hand to point me out.</p><p>I closed the curtain, heart pounding, and backed away. Perhaps I'd take a nap after all.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>I laid on the bed, over the covers, as the sun went down, and I was left in the dark. This was by choice: There were a few oil lamps placed sporadically around the chambers, but I didn't touch them. I suspected the chandelier was more for show than function - or if it was for function, I had a feeling Erik couldn't be bothered to light it every night.</p><p>After about an hour, I heard from beyond a door open and close with relative force, like it had been slammed. The sounds were muffled, but I heard Ayesha meow and Erik say something to her softly, tension in his tone. I couldn't quite make it out. It wasn't in French. I wasn't even sure it was in Persian. How many languages did this man speak?</p><p>I got up from the bed, deciding that I hadn't been poisoned, and exited the room. The lamps on the side tables were lit. Erik was on one of the couches, his back to me, as he moved his arm to the right of him, likely stroking the purring cat's back.</p><p>"I regret," he said, and I started, "that I forgot to ask what you do to occupy your time."</p><p>I didn't respond right away.</p><p>"I am talking to you, Mademoiselle, not the cat."</p><p>"I know." My voice was soft. "Er...I like to draw."</p><p>"Art." He thought for a moment. "Would you like to come sit, Christine, or do you rather enjoy talking to the back of my head?"</p><p>I swallowed, and made my way around him to the other couch. When I sat down and finally looked at him, I was surprised at what I found in his eyes. A haunting, sad look, like he held a howling, midnight rainstorm in his mind.</p><p>I looked down.</p><p>"There is paper in the study," he said.</p><p>"I saw it. I didn't want to take it without your permission."</p><p>"Well, you now have it. Take as much as you like. I doubt the Persian Empire is running out anytime soon."</p><p>I nodded. "Yes, all right. Thank you." I still didn't look at him, but I saw in the corner of my eye that he continued petting Ayesha, that he was watching me. My face felt hot. I wished he'd just look away.</p><p>"Christine, do you know what I do for the Shah?"</p><p>My eyes widened. Yes. "No."</p><p>A long stretch of silence. "Yes, you do."</p><p>I didn't say a word, wanting instead to crawl under the couch and hide like a cat. I was suddenly very jealous of Ayesha.</p><p>"But, worry not, my dear, I will indulge your lie." His voice was bitter. "Since you know nothing about my role here, I will enlighten you. At the request of the very lovely mother of the Shah, I put on dark magic shows in which the end result is the death of some victim - usually, these victims have committed some heinous crime against other Persian citizens, or they have tried and failed to lead some coup or revolution or protest against the Shah himself."</p><p>I didn't move. Why was he telling me this? Why did he want me to know? Was I going to be one of the victims? What had I done wrong? Maybe...maybe I wasn't supposed to look out the window. Maybe he didn't want anyone to know I was here, and that man in black had told others of my presence.</p><p>"As of late," he continued, "the Shah's mother has started to show signs of some strange illness, and as such, her sense of morbidity is especially high. The things I am asked to do are becoming more...creative."</p><p>I focused on my breathing, trying to keep it steady. I was frightened to even let a single finger twitch.</p><p>"Christine."</p><p>Slowly, I lifted my eyes to his. If I wasn't mistaken, I could have sworn he winced at my expression.</p><p>"Would you believe me," he asked softly, carefully, "if I told you that I didn't enjoy it?"</p><p>I tried to make my mouth open, to say something, but terror was like a binding on every single on of my muscles. When I only stared back at him, he sighed deeply and stood.</p><p>"Goodnight, Christine. Breakfast will be brought up tomorrow morning. I'll knock when it's here, should you still be asleep."</p><p>He walked away, hands in the pockets of his robe and head down, into what I gathered was his bedroom.</p><p>It was only when I heard the door click that the horrible tension in my shoulders released and I had the courage to scurry back into the study. I didn't draw, though. I went straight to the bed and closed my eyes. I'd stay that way until sleep took pity on me and carried me away.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Vizier</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Papa told me not to leave the flat. But I didn't listen - for through the window, I could see twilight stars winking down from above, swimming in a sea of color. I wanted - needed - to be out there. To go walking and see Paris. The house was too still and quiet, and outside it was too alive.</p><p>When I knew he was gone, and would be gone for hours, I unlocked the front door and made my way outside.</p><p>Dread filled me the moment I stepped foot onto the pavement.</p><p>Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.</p><p>There was danger just around the corner, and if I stayed out here too long, it would close in on me. I turned, hair rising on my neck, and faced the door again. There was a shadow creeping behind, and though my blood ran ice-cold, I forced my hand to reach for the doorknob.</p><p>But the door wouldn't budge. It was locked. I couldn't get in.</p><p>I couldn't go home.</p><p>I felt the shadow creep closer, but I dared not look. I didn't want to see it. It would take me away, somewhere far from here, and I'd never return.</p><p>Twilight turned to night, and the stars winked out. The moon as well. The lights of the city flickered into oblivion. And now it was just me and the shadow. Everywhere I turned, nothing but darkness.</p><p>I was lost. I was alone. And I knew, then, that I was so far from home.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>I awoke with a gasp. The high ceiling mocked me with its glittering gold, reminding me that it was only I who sensed the darkness lurking even now. I closed my eyes.</p><p>"Good morning, Christine."</p><p>I bolted upright with another gasp. Erik was sitting at his desk, his back to me, writing something with his left hand. His right elbow was on the surface of the desk, and he was resting his head in his hand.</p><p>He'd been in here while I slept.</p><p>"I-" I cleared my throat, bringing my knees to my chest, as if that could protect me at all. "I thought you were going to knock?"</p><p>"I was." He still didn't look at me, but took his head from his hand and leaned back in his chair, lounging. "But then I forgot that you were here when I walked in to work, and by that point I was already inside the room. And what was I going to do, knock on the wall above your bed? I'm sure that would have been much less frightening than waking up to see me here. And no - I haven't been watching you sleep. I'm too busy for that."</p><p>Well, that was at least a small comfort. "How long have you been here?"</p><p>"Long enough to know that you snore."</p><p>I forgot my previous trepidation, and was instead filled with indignant surprise. "I do not snore."</p><p>Finally, he turned to look at me. I blushed, regretting my words. If it was my stupid pride that killed me, then I would poison myself before he got the chance.</p><p>"How do you know?" he asked, seeming genuinely intrigued by whatever answer I'd provide. "You've never been awake to find out. Have you found a way to exit your own body and mind during sleep? Astral projection perhaps? That certainly is some trick - better than any magic I can do."</p><p>I had a flicker of doubt. My father always said I slept like an angel, but maybe that was just the rose-colored vision of a parent. "Do I snore?"</p><p>He watched me a moment longer, and then turned around to continue working. "No."</p><p>I relaxed, but felt secretly peeved. Was everything a joke to him? I supposed that it took a trickster revel in death.</p><p>But I had a spark of doubt for that too as I remembered his words last night. Would you believe me if I told you that I didn't enjoy it? If he didn't like it, then why do it at all? Was he just as much trapped here as I was?</p><p>"There is a bathing room to the right of this one," he said suddenly, looking down at whatever he wrote, "should you wish to freshen yourself - Not to say that you smell! That would be rather rude to imply, wouldn't it?"</p><p>Because sitting in the same room as an unsuspecting sleeping person isn't rude?</p><p>I didn't say a word, but instead got up from the bed and went to the dresser. I pulled out fresh clothing and my soap and walked into the parlor, where Ayesha was again sleeping on the couch. I walked to the right, as instructed, and went in.</p><p>I'd experienced the indoor plumbing of the palace during my training. But all of the girls had to share two bathing rooms. He had his own room, all to himself. And, like all of the other spaces in his suite, it was vast. A large bathtub, large enough to fit three human bodies comfortably, was placed on the far right wall. A toilet was against the far left wall, and in between, in front of me, was a long row of golden counter-tops. There was a small chandelier in this room, as there was in the study, but it wasn't used either. Instead, he had a lamp next to a dip in the counter - the sink.</p><p>I had no idea if the rest of Persia had these luxuries, or if it was only the palace. France certainly didn't have these kinds of accommodations widespread. I'd never even seen a sink like this before coming here - I'd only ever seen dry sinks and wash basins.</p><p>Above the countertops was a long hung-up black sheet. I could see, in the corner peeking out, a bit of mirror. Although it would have been nice to see my reflection, he'd clearly put it up for a reason. I didn't touch it.</p><p>I locked the door to the bathing room and undressed. I filled the tub with hot water and stepped inside.</p><p>In Paris, my flat didn't have a bathtub - we washed by hand. Bathtubs were for the wealthy, and we were not quite in the echelon of society. But it was so much more relaxing. I decided that if I were to ever go back home, this would be the one element I would miss. Everything else could be damned, but I would pine after bathtubs.</p><p>I soaked for probably twenty minutes, running the soap over my skin, through my hair. It smelled of roses again - likely, when he'd asked the servants to bring me soap, they'd assumed he wanted more of what I'd been cleaned with. That was fine. I could smell of flowers, even if the smell signaled that I was a Flower.</p><p>At last, I exited the tub, dried, and pulled on my clothes. I'd forgotten my hairbrush, I realized. I left the room and was about to enter the study once more when the coffee table caught my eye. My hairbrush was there, and next to it was several sheets of paper and a pen. Breakfast was there was well - tea and thin bread with eggs. It must have come while I was bathing. I went to the items and picked up the paper on top, which had writing on it.</p><p>Christine -</p><p>I will be working all day today in the study. I've left you paper to draw with, as well as the brush. I assume, of course, that you left it behind to have an excuse to come back and visit me once again in here, but alas, I must focus.</p><p>Your absolute most favorite person in all of the world,</p><p>- Erik</p><p>I suspected I knew what he was working on, given his occupation. And if I was right, then he could rest assured - I certainly didn't want to visit him. Even if I didn't have my hairbrush.<br/>
- - - - - - - - - - 

</p><p>I finished eating, still vaguely worried about poisoning but not as much as last night. I set the plate and tea aside. I assumed that when the servants came to bring food, they collected old dishes as well.</p><p>It felt strange doing something as passive and fun as drawing, given my situation. But I couldn't go into the study to nap, and I did not want to go near the window again. Ayesha and I were not exactly friends. So I placed Erik's note to the bottom of the paper stack, picked up the pen, and closed my eyes.</p><p>I pictured Paris. My street. The parks I'd visit. Cafes and corner shops. Streetlights at sunset. People walking to work in the morning.</p><p>My eyes opened as I ultimately decided on a scene I'd create. Watching my father play in the streets spontaneously when I was twelve. It was around noon in the wintertime, the fresh snow glistening on the pavement and the rooftops, as he bent and weaved with his violin, the sound carrying through the enraptured crowd. It was still vivid in my mind. I put the pen to paper.</p><p>And when I finished drawing that one, I made more. Different scenes, of course. Children throwing snowballs in the park. A view of the city from the balcony of our flat. The sight of people lined out the door to a bakery just after the sun came up.</p><p>I suspected that several hours had passed - and still I wasn't bored. I could spend all day drawing and be content. But I was interrupted when Erik emerged from the study. I didn't even get the chance to turn around when he walked around to pick up one of my drawings without a word. He stared down at it, examining it with real interest.</p><p>"Who is this?" he asked, tilting it to me. It was the first drawing I'd done.</p><p>"My father." I watched him.</p><p>He looked at me, searching my face. "Your father plays music."</p><p>I nodded.</p><p>"Hm." He handed me back the drawing. "You're not a terrible artist."</p><p>"Thank you," I said, though the way he'd said it sounded like he'd been expecting something awful.</p><p>"I play music as well," he said, nodding to the piano. "Do you play any instruments?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>"What about singing?" He narrowed his eyes. "Can you-"</p><p>A knock at the door. Erik scoffed and turned. He opened the door to his chambers, and from my angle, I caught only a glimpse of who it was. My heart contracted. Standing in the doorway was the man I'd seen from the window. The one with the trimmed beard and dark clothing.</p><p>"Yes," said Erik, "what do you want?"</p><p>It took a moment for me to register that he was speaking French, not Persian.</p><p>"Erik, good to see you, as well." The man's accent was extremely thick. "May I come in?"</p><p>Erik made way for him. The man walked in, his hands behind his back, and saw me. To my surprise, he beamed.</p><p>"Hello, Rose," he greeted.</p><p>"Rose?" Erik closed the door. "Where on Earth did you get Rose from?"</p><p>"That was her name in the Garden, was it not?" He looked me up and down. "And I can see why - very beautiful, this one."</p><p>Erik went past the man and sat across from me on the other couch. He cocked his head at me. "I suppose that explains the scent. Anyway." Erik gestured to the man. "Christine, meet Ibrahim Jahandir - the Grand Vizier to the Shah."</p><p>Ibrahim bowed his head.</p><p>I jumped a bit. The Grand Vizier. Why was he here?</p><p>"Ibrahim, this is Christine."</p><p>"Just Christine?"</p><p>"Christine Daae," Erik explained.</p><p>That's right - I'd had to eventually give him my last name so that he could send a letter to my father. I hoped that it wasn't a mistake.</p><p>"Good to meet you, Mademoiselle Daae," said Ibrahim. "Tell me, how is my French?"</p><p>"Thick with your Persian tongue," answered Erik.</p><p>"I'm not talking to you, brother." He looked at me. "How do I sound?"</p><p>I stared at him, confused. This was the right hand man to the fearsome Shah, and he was asking me to critique his use of French. "You sound fine," I whispered.</p><p>"Excellent!" He took a seat next to me. When he did, Ayesha stood from where she'd been under the coffee table to perch on the arm of the couch, staring at Ibrahim and purring. "Now, tell me. What was it like?"</p><p>"What was what like?" I asked, feeling as though he was a bit too close.</p><p>Mischief in his eyes, he gestured with his head to Erik. I understood immediately and blanched.</p><p>"Jesus Christ save you, Ibrahim." Erik glowered at him. "Have you no tact?"</p><p>"Jesus doesn't need to save me. I have Muhammed, and am content with that." He grinned. "I possess plenty of tact. But I have even more curiosity. And really, what are you going to do, kill me?"</p><p>"I'm thinking about it, yes."</p><p>"Then the Shah will have your head, and we will both burn in Hell together. Won't that be fun?"</p><p>I examined Ibrahim. His face was young, but not childlike. I suspected he was in his mid-twenties.</p><p>"Together?" Erik made a noise of disgust. "I certainly hope not."</p><p>"Now, now, Erik. You don't want to be burning bridges before you completely cross them."</p><p>"But, I suspect, that's why Hell is so hot." Erik smiled. "All those burning bridges."</p><p>Ibrahim waved him away, but was continuing to grin. Ayesha watched his waving hand with interest. "Stop with the religious talk, Erik. We both know you don't believe in any of it, anyway." He looked at me again. "Really. I want to know. Was it like being smothered by a bag of bones?"</p><p>"Ayesha," called Erik as I contemplated whether being poisoned would be so bad after all. He had venom in his voice. "Rip his throat out with your claws."</p><p>She went to Ibrahim and pressed her head into his side, purring loudly.</p><p>"Traitor," said Erik. He addressed the vizier. "I regret teaching you French so efficiently."</p><p>"What can I say? I'm an excellent student."</p><p>"Unfortunately." He eyed my embarrassed expression. "Now, did you come in here just to harass Christine, or was there a legitimate purpose to your visit?"</p><p>"Oh, yes." He sat up straight, his interest in me gone for the moment. I breathed a sigh of relief. "The Shah is interested to know how you like your gift."</p><p>"You can tell him the human being he gifted me is just lovely. A real treat. Always wanted a slave of my own."</p><p>If Ibrahim sensed the sarcasm, he didn't make it show. "Perfect. You can tell him yourself tonight at dinner in the Mirror Hall, where you are both invited. As you know, women aren't typically allowed to such events, but this is a special occasion. He wants very much to see the Rose he left at your door."</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Teapot</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"You can tell the Shah that I decline the invitation," Erik growled.</p><p>I knew I was pale as Ibrahim answered, "My friend, you know as well as I that when the Shah says invited, what he really means is summoned. You cannot refuse to go."</p><p>Anxiety coursed through me. I'd never met the Shah - and if he was more than willing to kidnap girls and keep a magical assassin, he couldn't be the most compassionate of souls. If he didn't approve of me, or approved too much of me, what would happen? Was the possibility of Erik secretly plotting my death the least of my worries?</p><p>"So then it's a dinner consisting of Christine, himself, and myself, is it?" Erik crossed his arms. "That'll be quite the table-talk, when she can't speak Persian and he can't speak French. Is she going to be excluded from conversation entirely? Or will he be excluded?" He cocked his head to the side. "I do hope it's the latter. My gift is much more interesting than the person who gave her to me. Look - she even has talents." Erik gestured to the pictures.</p><p>Ibrahim glanced down at the pictures, and then to me. He nodded approvingly and turned back to Erik. "If it were the case that only you and Christine were invited, then I would imagine he'd have you translate back and forth. That - or I suppose I could see her being excluded. I doubt he'll be talking to her much tonight - he only wants to look."</p><p>"Then Christine can draw a self-portrait and we can nail it to her empty chair." He drummed his bony fingers against his arm and turned to me. "While we're at it, actually, you could draw me as well - mask on, of course - and we'll nail that to my chair as well."</p><p>"There are several more guests invited, not just the two of you," explained Ibrahim.</p><p>"Then they can have portraits done too. I'll help her draw them. We can have a dozen done by tonight - can't we, my dear?"</p><p>I didn't respond. All I could think about was how much I didn't want to go.</p><p>He continued. "Why, we will make an absolute day of it. We'll have biscuits, build a fort from the couch cushions, and just draw the hours away-"</p><p>"Erik, listen. Please." Ibrahim's face took on a severe edge. "You must be there. The dinner has a dual purpose. He will be making a statement to the highest members of Court."</p><p>"And I can take that statement in writing, thank you."</p><p>"Erik." He leaned forward. "Listen."</p><p>Erik finally stayed quiet, waiting. I saw in his eyes that he understood some great gravity to the situation - more than I was comprehending.</p><p>"He wants you to perform tonight." Ibrahim went into a pocket in his trousers and pulled out a sheet of paper, about the length and width of my hand. "A magic trick. He would like you to be...innovative." He stood and extended the paper across the table.</p><p>Erik didn't move for several seconds; the only motion his body made was the sudden, very visible, deep breathing, as he stared with hatred at the piece of parchment. Slowly, he rose to his feet. He snatched the paper with quick violence and read it. His eyes lifted to me, and then to Ibrahim, as he folded the paper neatly and placed it into one of his own pockets.</p><p>"And," he said slowly, his voice toxic, "what, exactly, will happen if Christine chooses not to go?"</p><p>"I wouldn't experiment to find out."</p><p>Erik nodded slowly. He looked back at me and, only for a moment, I saw something like regret pass over his gaze. It was gone as soon as it came. "You have said what you need to say," he said to Ibrahim. "You may leave my chambers."</p><p>He chuckled. "You're the only person I've met who has the courage to dismiss the Grand Vizier."</p><p>"Does the Shah want well-planned magic or does he want me to talk to you?"</p><p>"Fair enough." The vizier nodded to me. "I will see you both tonight. Good day."</p><p>And with that, he was gone, leaving me alone with Erik once more. I watched him, watched his hands twitch at his side as he stared down at the table. At my drawings. I followed his gaze. He was looking at a piece that I was currently halfway through, of the tea set we had at my Paris flat. I wished I could say what was happening in his head - because, in his eyes, I saw that his mind was working hard.</p><p>"I have more work to do," he said softly, but this time he didn't meet my gaze. "Let me know if you need more paper."</p><p>And he was gone as well, back into his study.</p><p>My heart was pounding.</p><p>He was to perform magic. His dark, deathly magic.</p><p>And I was to be there. I was to watch him kill another person.</p><p>I swallowed.</p><p>I hoped, at least, that I was only watching.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>The sun was starting to retire below the horizon when another knock sounded at the door. Erik, wordless, left his study to answer it. The Daroga stood, straightened, in the doorway, two guards behind him. He said something to Erik, but before he could respond, he looked over at me. Monsieur Khan took on an apologetic look and spoke again, lower.</p><p>Erik exhaled sharply, and then turned to me. "Christine, you'll have to wear the outfit you were brought here in."</p><p>No sarcasm. No snide remark. In fact, his attitude was entirely sober. I didn't argue. I simply went into the study to change into the revealing clothing I'd arrived gift-wrapped in. I emerged, and to my surprise, Erik looked away. There was a deep anger in his eyes. I wondered why. Did he hate the sight of my body? Maybe that was why he didn't want me.</p><p>Suddenly I felt extremely exposed. More-so than I had before. Exposed and ashamed.</p><p>Barefoot - as my outfit called for no shoes - I exited the chamber with the two men. I walked to the right of Erik, completely silent with my head down, as Monsieur Khan walked to his left. They spoke in hushed tones, urgently, but I didn't bother to guess what the topic was. I was too focused on the fact that behind, in front of, and to either side of us were guards.</p><p>Were they to protect Erik from others? Or others from Erik?</p><p>At last, we turned into a grand room, twice the size of Erik's chambers. Three enormous golden chandeliers hung from the ceiling - and these were, unlike in Erik's rooms, lit. A long polished wood table lined with silver was placed in the center of the room, and nine chairs of a similar fashion were placed around it - four on either side and one at the head. Currently, all of one side of the table was seated entirely by unfamiliar men, while the head and other side sat empty. The floor was covered wall to wall in a red and blue carpet, and the walls themselves were made of nothing but crystal-clear glass mirrors, broken up only by the gargantuan windows.</p><p>I felt Erik stiffen beside me. I looked at him, and there was real terror in his eyes as he took in his reflection from across the room.</p><p>I remembered then the covered looking glass in his bathing room; and I felt, for the first time, as though he was actually human. There was something he was frightened of.</p><p>His own appearance.</p><p>Monsieur Khan waved us forward, to the table. Erik sat two seats from the head, I sat next to Erik, and Monsieur Khan left the room.</p><p>While the men - all of whom seemed to be dressed well enough to be high-ranking members of Court - had been chatting before, they now fell silent, their gazes switching between fear at Erik's presence and surprised desire at mine. Erik seemed to be made of stone. I felt the same. Two men looked between one another, a haunted, knowing look on their faces. They probably suspected, as I did, that someone was going to die.</p><p>I looked down at the table. Currently, only empty wine glasses and silverware were on the table, a set for every chair.</p><p>This silent torture at last ended when the guards at the door made way and it opened up to reveal three men. To the right was Ibrahim. To the left was Monsieur Khan.</p><p>And when everyone on the other side of the table stood and bowed, murmuring words in Persian, I knew who was in the middle. I stood and bowed as well.</p><p>The Shah.</p><p>He must have given a signal for us to sit - and, I realized, Erik had never stood to bow in the first place - for everyone lowered themselves to their chairs. I did as well. I stared at Erik, who was looking right at the Shah. And so I followed his gaze.</p><p>He was relatively handsome, about the same age as Ibrahim, with a thick mustache above his lip. His brown eyes took in Erik, though he didn't seem offended as much as he seemed amused by his lack of respect. Perhaps it was all part of the show. The Shah's eyes traveled, then, to me, and delight lit his face. He nodded appreciatively, and then said something to Monsieur Khan. The Daroga again left the room. He gestured lightly to Ibrahim, and they found their seats - the Shah, of course, at the head, and Ibrahim next to Erik.</p><p>No one spoke. The Shah, an oily smile on his face, looked between me and Erik, and then asked him a question. Every eye opened wide, trained on Erik. Even Ibrahim looked at him, though he looked less shocked and more curious.</p><p>Erik's hands were on his knees, and I was currently the only one who could see that his fingers has turned to claws. Despite this, his voice remained neutral as he responded. The Shah's smile widened, intrigue in his expression. He stared at me, as though seeing right through my clothes, and asked a follow-up question. His fingers remained sharply edged as he answered again.</p><p>At that, the Shah seemed satisfied. He turned to Ibrahim, as though to start a conversation, and then paused. He looked at Erik and, as if it was an afterthought gestured to his own face and gave a command. Erik didn't respond. Not a single movement from anyone. The Shah's smile flickered, and he gave the command again.</p><p>And it was then that I realized: he was telling him to remove his mask.</p><p>Like it took significant effort, he lifted his hands to his face and brought the mask down and placed it into a pocket of his robes. I looked away as several exclamations of revulsion came from the other men at the table. This only pleased the Shah further: he laughed. Erik, however, did not find it amusing. He avoided looking at anything - the laughing leader of Persia, Ibrahim, me, the men showing displeasure. He avoided the walls that would only reflect his face back at him. Instead, he stared down at his hands.</p><p>I felt, despite myself, the sudden need to defend him. Though a killer, though he still made me nervous, and though I continued to fear death at his hands, he'd so far been kind to me - in his own way. He didn't deserve this kind of humiliation. No one did.</p><p>But I didn't defend him. I didn't do anything. I just did my best not to look at him and add to his discomfort as I listened to the Shah speak to Ibrahim jovially.</p><p>At last, Monsieur Khan returned, but this time with a servant who carried an ornate silver teapot on a tray. She screamed when she saw Erik's face. At first, this seemed to further tickle the Shah's humor; but when she refused to come closer, he turned angry. He shouted something. Monsieur Khan quickly took the teapot from her and a guard gripped her by the arm and pulled her away.</p><p>"Are you ready to see magic, Christine?" whispered Erik, bitterness in every movement of his tongue. I still didn't look at him. "Tell me, what do you prefer to drink? Tea, coffee, or wine?"</p><p>"I-" The question took me off guard, and I did look. But I'd already seen his face - it didn't shock me anymore. He was looking right back at me with a dark expression. "Tea, I suppose."</p><p>He nodded. Fluidly, he rose from his chair and addressed the Shah, giving a short speech. When he was done , the Shah nodded, grinning, and clapped his hands. The rest of the guests clapped as well, though not nearly as enthusiastically. Erik bowed his head slightly and spun, his robes like flowing gold and black waters around him. He went to Monsieur Khan and took the teapot from him. I watched as he went to the man to the left of the Shah - across from Ibrahim - and asked him a question, holding the pot in his hands. The man's eyes were wide as he stammered out an answer.</p><p>Tea was poured into the wine glass.</p><p>He moved to the next man, asking him the same question. But this man gave a different answer, quietly.</p><p>And, to my shock, when Erik poured the teapot, it wasn't tea that emerged - but wine.</p><p>I gaped.</p><p>There had just been tea in the pot.</p><p>Someone sat to the right of me, but I didn't look. I watched as Erik went to the next guest and took his request. He apparently wanted coffee.</p><p>The Shah laughed jovially and clapped hard. At that, the other guests took his lead, applauding the trick. There were murmurs through the table, some impressed and others fearful. The Shah was apparently fine with this chatter - I doubted he'd let it go on if he wasn't.</p><p>How was Erik doing this?</p><p>"If you're worried that the Shah is going to remove you from Erik and place you into his own harem," whispered a voice to my right, spoken in a near-perfect French accent, "don't fret too much. He doesn't like European women. That's not why you're here."</p><p>I looked. Monsieur Khan sat there, looking at me with jade eyes from behind his glasses. His face, like his voice, was calm.</p><p>"I'm not worried about that."</p><p>The Daroga nodded as Erik went to the last person on the other side. "You're only here," he continued, "so that the Shah could examine the gift he gave, as he hadn't even seen you when he ordered you removed from the Garden. He only knew you were French."</p><p>"I know. I mean - I know that I'm here so he could...examine me."</p><p>"That's the only reason you're here."</p><p>He looked at me intently, and it dawned on me what he was trying to say. I wasn't in any danger. I could relax my anxious thoughts.</p><p>Erik went around to Monsieur Khan, and he asked for wine. Erik already knew what I wanted, and so gave me tea. He gave himself wine, and gave Ibrahim coffee.</p><p>It was when everyone had gotten their beverages that I realized that no one had bothered to drink any of them. The Shah realized this too, and gave them an order, gesturing with his hands - to which the other side of the table nervously pressed the glasses to their lips. I think one of them pretended to sip. So I wasn't the only one with paranoia.</p><p>Ibrahim and the Daroga drank theirs with relative calm, and so I did too. And when I did, I felt...</p><p>Nothing. Nothing but the warm liquid pass down my throat. Actually, it was quite good.</p><p>Erik was standing with the pot next to the Shah. He asked him what he wanted. I'd picked up enough from the exchanges to understand that he asked for wine. And so Erik poured red liquid into his glass. He gestured to a guard to take the teapot, and when it was out of his hands, he went to his own seat.</p><p>I'd thought that was the end of the show.</p><p>But then the Shah called out to the two guards at the doorway. The opened the door, and two more guards were dragging in a bruised, scarred man in soiled clothing; the man cried and screamed to be let go as his feet scraped against the ground, until he was brought to stand next to the Shah. Both of his arms were restrained on either side of him by the guards' hands; tears streamed down his face as he cried out. It was the universal call for mercy. Shocked words were shared among the guests as the Shah smiled lazily at the screaming man.</p><p>I felt sick to my stomach, and twice as bewildered.</p><p>"What's going on?" I breathed in terror.</p><p>"That would be the royal taste-tester," said Erik softly, looking at his hands again. "He attempted to poison the Shah, and now he will be punished accordingly."</p><p>Horror gripped me - he looked as though he'd already been punished.</p><p>I wanted to look away, but couldn't, as one of the guards lifted the Shah's wine glass to the taste-tester's lips and forced him to drink. As the liquid was poured into his mouth, his eyes widened and he froze. His gaze found Erik, but Erik was still looking down, unmoving. When the man finished the drink, there was a moment's calm.</p><p>And then he groaned pitifully, doubling over, his arms still held behind him. He panted for a few seconds, and then he vomited blood all over the carpet.</p><p>My hands flew to my mouth. I felt faint and had to close my eyes, turning away. I could hear him groaning and quite literally spilling up his insides. And I thought, perhaps, I might vomit too. From the sounds of disgusted alarm coming from the guests, I knew I wasn't alone.</p><p>I breathed hard, hoping for it to be over, hoping that this was just a terrible nightmare, when I heard from where the man had been standing, the sound of a limp body hitting the ground.</p><p>Silence.</p><p>And then the Shah clapped his hands, and I heard people moving all around the table. I opened my eyes to see servants carrying trays of food. A meal of chicken and rice was placed in front of me.</p><p>From his seat, the Shah began to eat, as though he were not sitting next to a dead man lying in his own pool of blood.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Rose</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The moment the Shah began eating, Ibrahim followed suit, his face a mask of indifference. Monsieur Khan ate as well. The men at the table, though green, took bites of their meal. Erik slowly picked up his fork and knife and cut into his meat.</p><p>I felt like I were in some sort of upside-down world. I was the odd one out for feeling too sick to eat while a corpse lay filthy and bloody mere steps away. I stared down at my plate of food. Consuming it was the very last thing on this Earth that I wanted to do.</p><p>'It helps if you nibble.'</p><p>With a gasp, I looked up. The sound of the whisper had been so close to my ear that it almost sounded inside my very head. At my reaction, several of the men glanced briefly up at me, but then looked toward Erik and quickly turned back down. Whatever the Shah had asked Erik, it had clearly given the impression that I belonged to the Angel of Death and only to him.</p><p>The Shah then cleared his throat and tapped his knife against a new glass of wine - sans poison, of course. Everyone put their forks and knives down and watched him. The Shah's face was pleasant but serious. He put his elbows on the table and his ringed hands together as he rested his chin upon his fingers. He spoke, only for a minute, but every eye was fixed on him. When he was done, he waved his hands and gave one last command, and everyone continued eating silently.</p><p>Except for me.</p><p>I felt Erik's eyes on me as the whisper returned. 'You don't have to eat everything, my dear. Take very small bites and wash each down with tea.'</p><p>I felt a chill go through me. He was making his voice travel. His magic, apparently, knew no bounds. This particular trick, it seemed, was exclusive to me at the moment, as no one else seemed to be able to hear it.</p><p>But I did what he said. I stayed tethered to that comforting whisper. Even if it was the whisper of a man who'd just now taken another's life. Slowly, I placed a small forkful of rice into my mouth and washed it down with tea.</p><p>'Good. Keep doing that.' I looked at him as he spoke, and was shocked to find that his mouth was only open a fraction and wasn't moving at all. 'I can keep talking to you if you'd like, or I can stop. Eat chicken next if you'd like me to continue, and eat rice if you would like me to leave you be.'</p><p>I quickly ate a piece of chicken, my stomach roiling at the feeling of the food. It was flesh I had in my mouth. Flesh, like the flesh on a corpse-</p><p>'All right.' There was a pause as he also ate a bit of chicken. 'I have to admit something to you.'</p><p>I glanced at him shortly, but he was looking nonchalantly at his food.</p><p>'The thing is, Christine,' he said, that you do snore. 'Terribly. I could barely focus this morning between the sounds of a grizzly bear growling in the woods for its next catch.'</p><p>And the mention of that made me forget momentarily all of my fear.</p><p>;I mean Dear Lord, Christine.' He cut into his food. 'You really must have your throat examined. I think you may have a ravenous lion trapped in there.'</p><p>I felt a bubble of annoyance, but just as quickly, I realized: he was trying to change my mood. It didn't matter if he was wanting to make me irritated, or sad, or humored. He was just attempting to make me feel something other than horror.</p><p>It was working.</p><p>Not just my fear for the situation I found myself in, but my fear for him, was disappearing. He was doing his best to make me comfortable. If he'd wanted to hurt me, he'd had plenty of chances by now. But for whatever reason, he wanted to ease my terror.</p><p>And I wasn't naive - I'd watched the ordeal. This hadn't been Erik's idea to kill that man - Erik was the instrument. I'd seen how he hesitated before taking off his mask, how he'd sat there in silent shame as verbal rubbish and laughter were thrown in his direction. He was just as much chained to his position as Angel of Death as I was chained to being a Flower.</p><p>Would I believe him if he said that he didn't enjoy it?</p><p>Well, would I believe a Garden Flower if she said that she didn't enjoy lying with the men who take advantage of her?</p><p>Yes.</p><p>I would.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - - </p><p>The moment the dinner was over, Erik rose from his chair and donned his mask. I followed him, as did Monsieur Khan. Guards again surrounded us as we walked back to his chambers. All three of us were silent, and in that silence, I remembered what I'd seen before I ate. I regretted the thought immediately. My stomach twisted horribly.</p><p>I whimpered.</p><p>Erik's eyes shot to me. He must have seen my nausea, for his eyes widened. "Are you going to be sick, Christine?"</p><p>I nodded.</p><p>"Can you make it there?"</p><p>I nodded again.</p><p>But he walked a bit faster, and so did I. The Daroga and the guards were thus forced to as well.</p><p>The moment we reached his suite, he grabbed my arm - oh, his hand was so cold! - and pulled me through the chambers into the bathing room as I felt extremely weak - dizzy. He placed me before the toilet, and I knelt over it, vomiting fiercely. I felt his hands holding my hair behind my head, though he didn't say a word. When I was done, he flushed away the spilled up chicken and rice and led me to the sink.</p><p>"Wash your mouth out. You'll feel better."</p><p>I did so, vaguely wondering if he'd had experience trying to feel better from something like this.</p><p>Finally, he led me into the study, where he pulled back the sheets of the bed and told me to lie down. I was still in my harem outfit, but I didn't care. It was light and soft - and the moment he put the covers back over me, I felt so comfortable and so warm.</p><p>And I was exhausted enough by the entire affair that I fell asleep the moment I closed my eyes. I wasn't even sure he'd left the room by the time I did. What I was sure of, though, was the image of a skull in my dreams, a vine of thorns sprouting from the eye sockets and gaping nose and toothy mouth. As the vines grew to cover the skull, to crush it without mercy, I watched as a single rose began to bud, against all odds, among the thorns. And when the rose bloomed fully open, the skull sighed in relief, as though the presence of that one single red flower made everything else somehow bearable.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - - </p><p>The following morning, Erik wasn't in the study.</p><p>Images of last night flashed through my mind, but I pushed them down. Not now. Not again.</p><p>Wanting to distract myself, I picked up a fresh set of clothing. My hairbrush, too. Erik must have put it on my dresser last night while I slept. As for the soap, it was already in the bathing room - I'd felt it convenient to simply leave it on the tub, and Erik hadn't seemed to complain about it the rest of the day.</p><p>I went to the bathing room and attempted to turn the handle, but it was locked.</p><p>Oh. Erik was-</p><p>"Wanting to join me in the bath, Christine?" he called. "You'll have to wait in line. I have women queued up and down the palace halls for the pleasure. Men, too, if you'd believe it."</p><p>The sarcasm was back.</p><p>Joy.</p><p>"I'll wait until you're finished," I replied softly, and went to the couch, still holding my clothes and brush in my lap. At last, the door opened, and I turned to see him in blue and white robes this time, a mask matching those colors as well. His black hair was damp as he looked at me in expectation. He gestured to the bathing room. "Your turn."</p><p>Quickly, I walked past him, and as I did, I got a whiff of pine. The smell made me think of trees at night in the wintertime under a full moon. I liked it. A lot, actually. But I pushed that away as I closed the door behind me to bathe - very faintly aware that, just before my naked body had been in this tub, his had as well.</p><p>Washed, dressed, and hair freshly combed, I left the bathing room to Erik sipping coffee. This was, apparently, the second time breakfast had been delivered while I was in the bath. He nodded to a cup of tea left for me.</p><p>No food this time.</p><p>"I assumed, perhaps, you still lacked an appetite." He watched me sit across from him. "If you are hungry, I can still request food for you."</p><p>I shook my head. "No, I'm still not hungry." I lifted the tea to my lips and sipped, only a bit. I put it back down, my stomach roiling even at that.</p><p>"So," he said, holding his coffee in both hands, "before we were...well, interrupted, yesterday, I was going to ask you: do you sing?"</p><p>"I know how to, yes."</p><p>Interest sparked in his eyes. "You do."</p><p>"I mean to say," I corrected, "that I know how to as well as anyone."</p><p>"Which is to say..."</p><p>"Not much," I finished. "I understand the basics of music, as my father does play violin. But I'm not skilled."</p><p>"May I hear?"</p><p>"Oh..." I reddened. "No."</p><p>He cocked his head. "And why not?"</p><p>"I just...well, I'd rather not."</p><p>He looked at me a moment, then shrugged and took another sip of coffee. "Then what of your father? Is he famous?"</p><p>"In Paris. Relatively. A very local celebrity."</p><p>Just then, the world seemed to tilt very slightly to the side. I gripped the arm of the couch and inhaled sharply. A tingling started in the crown of my head.</p><p>Erik sat up straight, alarmed, eyes wide. "Christine?"</p><p>"I don't feel right," I whispered, and a wash of cold overcame me.</p><p>Erik put his coffee down and went to sit next to me. "What's wrong?"</p><p>"I feel...like everything...is on its side." My heart rate picked up as I looked at him. But he wasn't looking at me. He was staring, instead, at the tea.</p><p>That was an excellent idea. Maybe I needed some kind of nourishment - I was lightheaded because I was dehydrated, having expelled everything last night. I reached for the cup, but Erik grabbed my wrist. He put his icy fingers to my throat - I felt my erratic heart as he pressed into an artery. He pulled away with a curse.</p><p>"Christine," he whispered, "I think you've been poisoned."</p><p>No. No, no. "By whom?" I breathed.</p><p>His eyes were hard - fearful. "Not by me, if that's what you're worried about."</p><p>"I'm not..." I started. But then the world went black.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Voice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The blackness remained.</p><p>I didn't dream so much as experience a vortex of swirling, intense emotions and deafening sounds - a mess of blind nonsensical hallucinations - for what could have been seconds, hours, or days. I swam in that pool of confusion aimlessly, not knowing where I was going or why - not caring, either. I just existed in it - with no past, present, or future. And when the vortex at last stilled, I knew I was awake.</p><p>I tried to open my eyes, but couldn't.</p><p>Strange.</p><p>I tried to move my arm to rub at my eyelids, but it wouldn't budge. I tried my other arm, and it also remained still. Fear like I'd never known gripped me. I willed myself to open my mouth to call out, but my lips remained closed. I attempted humming a scream, but couldn't. In fact, I couldn't even control my own breathing. It was as though my mind were giving a command but my body was deaf to it.</p><p>I scanned my most recent memories. Arriving at Erik's door. Eating and drawing at his coffee table. Meeting the Grand Vizier. Going to the dinner-</p><p>The dinner. The poison. The man lying dead on a bloody carpet.</p><p>The poison given to me.</p><p>Oh, God.</p><p>Was I dead?</p><p>Was this what death was? No Heaven, no Hell. Just darkness.</p><p>Darkness for eternity.</p><p>This for eternity.</p><p>My mind fell apart in its sudden sheer, utter panic - with absolutely nowhere to channel that emotion. I couldn't run, or yell, or bang against a wall. I couldn't do anything. And that in itself made my panic worse. I tried to calm myself, to think straight, but I only continued to break down. I wanted to cry.</p><p>I wanted to call out for my Papa.</p><p>I wanted my Papa!</p><p>A sigh sounded from somewhere far away.</p><p>No, not far away.</p><p>Quite close actually.</p><p>The sound of a pen scraping against paper.</p><p>Find a lighthouse in these waters, Christine. Don't let yourself drown. Climb onto what you can hear.</p><p>A sigh and a pen scraping. So I wasn't alone. There was someone in whatever room I was in. And if it was a pen against paper, then it could be Erik at his desk.</p><p>I listened as the pen continued scraping. I stayed connected to that sound, the only proof that I wasn't floating in the darkness.</p><p>A knock, this time from somewhere far off.</p><p>"God damn it-" That was Erik's voice. I heard him push back a chair, heard his footsteps as they left the room. I listened as he greeted someone in Persian, his voice strained. Two pairs of footsteps - Erik and the person with him - entered the room. They stopped. Silence for a few moments, and then the person with Erik said something, his voice vaguely familiar.</p><p>Erik yelled out - not quite a scream, but a low growl of frustration - and I listened with shock as something smashed hard into a wall.</p><p>"Yes!" he hissed, voice switching to French in his anger. "Yes, Nadir, I'm very much aware!"</p><p>Nadir?</p><p>"You have said it countless times, Daroga." Oh. Nadir was Monsieur Khan's first name. "I know. I should have used a taste-tester. I should have a servant taste my food. I should make sure my drinks are safe! I know!"</p><p>"Erik-"</p><p>"I do understand, Nadir. I really do. And going forward, I will take your advice. But how, pray tell, will this nugget of wisdom ensure that Christine wakes up?"</p><p>I am awake, Erik.</p><p>"It won't. But Erik, please, why haven't you-"</p><p>"I see enough death on a day-to-day basis, my friend. I'm not entirely keen on watching an innocent servant die on my behalf. And why, exactly, would I ever think she would be a target?"</p><p>"Are you sure she's the intended victim?"</p><p>"I always ask for coffee. And the coffee wasn't poisoned."</p><p>"I'm surprised," said Nadir softly, "that it has never been poisoned. That you've survived up until now."</p><p>"That may have something to do with the rumor I managed to spread among the servants that I can detect poisons by smell." Erik laughed humorlessly. "Apparently they didn't think I'd check Christine's drink. But why poison her?"</p><p>"Someone must think she's a good way to threaten you." Nadir paused a moment. "That you have a weakness."</p><p>Another pause while I felt my heart quicken. I was being targeted? Just for being associated with Erik?</p><p>"Well," said Erik darkly, "isn't that wonderful? Damn the Shah! Asking whether I was pleased with his gift - and then asking if I enjoyed taking her to bed! - in front of everyone present. No wonder everyone knows. No wonder they think she's some kind of bargaining chip."</p><p>"And you're sure she's alive? She's incredibly still."</p><p>"I've been checking her pulse every hour, to be sure. It's been thirty hours and she still hasn't woken up." He sighed. "I'm so angry."</p><p>"We will find whoever did this."</p><p>"No - I mean, yes. I will end whatever incendiary low-life did this. But I am angry, Daroga, at myself." He paused. "The moment she was delivered to my door, I told myself that, if nothing else, I would ensure she was safe until you brought back news of her father. And look - not even two days pass and she's on death's door."</p><p>My mind went blank.</p><p>All this time he'd wanted me to be safe, but I'd assumed the opposite.</p><p>"The Shah's speech," said Erik, "after the death of the taste-tester...how he told us that this is what happens to those who try to oppose him..."</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"Christine is an innocent." His voice was soft. "This happens to everyone. Death knows no prejudice. It is the great equalizer. Perhaps that's why it's accepted me as its harbinger - it knows that I have nowhere else to go but into its arms, that no one else will take me. It loves me so much that it gave me its face. And it's not just our appearance that's alike, Nadir: our very existence is unwanted but inevitable. It's not a relationship I want...but it's one I have to be content with."</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>The Daroga left, and Erik was back at his desk. He didn't say anything while there - he only worked. Every so often, I would feel cold fingers on my throat, and he'd breathe in relief. Those touches on my neck were the only indication of the passage of time. Six hours.</p><p>And then he was gone.</p><p>Whether it was to work or to bed I wasn't sure. But I was able, this time, to calm my panic into an understanding that this wasn't eternal. I would eventually awaken. And if I didn't, then I couldn't go without food forever. That thought, though morbid, was calming. Whatever death was like, it couldn't be as horrific as what I was currently experiencing.</p><p>And in the silent darkness, I eventually fell back asleep.</p><p>Only to awaken to the feeling of a weight on my bed, like someone was sitting there.</p><p>I could guess who it was.</p><p>"Christine."</p><p>Erik.</p><p>"Christine," he said again, his voice soft. "I know you can't hear me, but I hope you'll forgive my talking to you, anyway."</p><p>I can hear you. I can. Please, I can.</p><p>"I can't breathe sometimes." He paused. "I inhale and inhale but can never expel the suffocating air inside me." He shifted on the bed. "But Christine, the thought - just the thought - of helping you return home actually filled me with hope, and I exhaled for the first time in so long."</p><p>I knew, deep in my heart, that he would never say these things to me if he thought I comprehended his words. That he was only speaking to me like this because he assumed it was a secret that would stay between himself and my unhearing ears. That he wanted to talk to someone - a human being - but not one who could use these words against him. An unconscious body was the safest confidant he could find.</p><p>"I wanted to send you back," he whispered. "I thought I'd get the chance to do something good for once - to put something right rather than be a force for destruction." He sighed. "I saw the way you looked at me when you arrived here - I saw the fear. I still see it. You do a good job of pretending, and I pretend I don't see it, but you fear me terribly. Just like everyone else. You think I'm a monster, and if you die, I'll never get the chance to prove that I'm not."</p><p>Oh.</p><p>Oh, I wanted so badly to tell him that I understood now. I knew he wasn't evil. I knew he meant me no harm. I understood now. I understood now.</p><p>But I couldn't.</p><p>And I wanted to sob in frustration when he checked my pulse and then bid me goodnight.</p><p>But I knew that if I'd woken up and told him that I heard him, that he'd make some sarcastic remark - some excuse - that I'd been dreaming, that I was hallucinating. And I would accept his words, unable to find the strength to push for a real feeling from him.</p><p>There was a pain, a burning fire, inside of him that he either wouldn't or couldn't douse. And I wished, in that moment, that I could be an ocean, gently lapping against his hurt until it went out. But I wasn't an ocean. Even if I woke up, I would never be anything but a drop of water. And I knew that if went near those flames, I'd evaporate right on the spot.</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The Echoes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gustave Daae, despite his fame, had no friends.</p><p>My father hated socialization - the fact that he managed to marry at all was a wonder. My mother, apparently, had been the opposite. A Parisian social butterfly. But when she found the same quality in men, she was bored. Instead, she'd been drawn to the quiet Swedish man at the Christmas party, playing his violin. He hated conversations, but he loved crowds. When he was done playing, she watched as women waited in vain for him to notice them, to ask them to dance. She watched as he turned away invitations to drink or join laughing tables of men. She watched as he, instead, went to a corner to simply watch.</p><p>And so she joined him, fascinated. She didn't flirt or coerce him to talk, as the other women did - as she did with most men. She let him be, and stood with him against the wall.</p><p>Gustave was smitten.</p><p>I never knew my mother; she died in a carriage accident when I was very young. My father never pursued another woman. To be truthful, he never pursued my mother, either. They simply existed together, easily and without expectation, until their hearts fused into one.</p><p>And like my father, I never had much use for friends. I never looked for love. I had Papa, I had art, and I had the city of Paris. That was good enough for me.</p><p>He said often that I had my mother's spirit and his curiosity, and that this made for a dangerous combination. That it would one day land me in trouble - that I would wander straight into trouble's arms.</p><p>I think he was right.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>I awoke.</p><p>And when I found myself able to open my eyes, I was so overcome with relief that I let out a cry. Which meant, of course, that I could move my face, throat, and lungs as well. Unfortunately, the rest of my body remained locked to me, but at least now I could see. I could communicate.</p><p>At my wordless shout, Erik was out of his desk chair and at my side faster than I could comprehend his movement. He stood over me with wide, tired eyes, every muscle tense. "You're awake."</p><p>I thought about telling him that I'd been awake. That I'd heard him talking to Nadir, talking to me. But it would be selfish to say anything. Though he'd directed the words at my name, they hadn't been for me. I would give him the dignity of his private thoughts.</p><p>"Yes," I whispered.</p><p>His shoulders relaxed as he scanned my face. "You need to drink something."</p><p>I stared at him.</p><p>"You're thirsty. One more day without water and you'll die from that." His eyes moved to my lips. I moved my tongue over them, and indeed they were like paper. But I thought of how I'd been been paralyzed and winced. He continued, understanding my expression: "I've kept and washed out the coffee cup I used the morning you...fell asleep. You don't need to worry about poisoning again."</p><p>I nodded. "All right."</p><p>He walked swiftly from the room, and within seconds, he was holding a cup of water, closing the door with his foot. He stood over me with the water; without a smile, he said, "I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that my lips touched this cup only two days ago." But his attempt at arrogance fell flat in his emotionless tone. "Please sit up."</p><p>My heart sank. "I can't."</p><p>"You can't?"</p><p>I shook my head.</p><p>He held out his hand. "I'll help you, then."</p><p>I only watched his outstretched fingers sadly.</p><p>Erik breathed out sharply in frustration. "Christine, I know my hands look like spiders, but I can assure you that they possess no venom. My elbows, however - highly deadly. But they're covered at the moment, so worry not." He moved his hand a bit closer.</p><p>"I can't," I whispered again.</p><p>"What do you mean, you can't?"</p><p>"I can't-" I swallowed. "I can't move."</p><p>I watched, gradually, as realization sprouted in his mind. His eyes flickered into darkness, and he withdrew his hand, slowly, as though he refused to believe what he knew to be true. That I was broken - and he blamed himself for my brokenness.</p><p>With all the control he could muster, he turned and walked with stiff grace to his desk, putting down the cup. His back bent, and his hands went flat against the furniture's surface - and then he banged against it with his fist, crying out a stream of curses, his beautiful voice disturbingly ugly. I looked away, alarmed, and found a broken lamp against the wall near the door. I remembered the shattering sound I'd heard when he was with Nadir.</p><p>Erik opened his fist and moved it to the cup, gripping it. He straightened and turned again, toward me, his composure having returned. He sat on the edge of the bed, eyes full of fire. "I'm sorry about this."</p><p>I was about to ask for what, when his free arm scooped underneath my shoulders and brought me to a sitting position. But as I had no control over my own spine, I started to fall forward, toward my knees, when his hand brought me to rest against his chest. I wasn't exactly upright, but it was certainly better than I could do on my own at the moment.</p><p>"It won't be for long," he murmured. I could hear his heart beating about as quickly as mine.</p><p>"That's all right," I said.</p><p>Arm around my back and hand gripping my shoulder to keep me steady, he brought the cup to my lips. I was so unused to the feeling of someone holding a drink for me - so unused to the lack of control over the cup - that even just the small sip I took made me sputter and gasp. He pulled the water from my lips and asked me if I was all right. I said yes.</p><p>"Drink slowly," he instructed, and made me sip once more. I did as he said - I didn't really have a choice - and it was when the water hit my throat that I realized how incredibly parched I was. I grimaced, wanting him to pour all of the water into my mouth at once. "Slowly," he reminded me.</p><p>He placed me onto my back again and left to get more water. He returned and, lifting me up, he helped me drink my second helping. He did this a few more times before he said that I should stop for now - that any more and I'd be sick. He placed the cup on the dresser, and I stared at it with greed. I wanted more.</p><p>Erik sat on the edge of the bed again. His voice was full of bitterness. "It's not safe for you here with me."</p><p>I waited.</p><p>"But I can't send you back to France - even if you had control of your body. I wouldn't dare send you on your own - and, as it stands, I can't. I no longer trust anyone to escort you, now that an attempt has been made on your life. And if I took you, I'd be hunted down and we'd both be killed. I'm the Shah's property, and he doesn't take lightly to theft."</p><p>I closed my eyes. Any hope I had of a future - of seeing my father - left me.</p><p>"I'm sorry, Christine."</p><p>His voice was low - miserable. After a few moments of silence, he got up from the bed and left the room.</p><p>I was alone then, paralyzed. Trapped. Trapped in Persia. Trapped in my own body. No way out.</p><p>I couldn't help it. I didn't care if he could hear me.</p><p>Tears streamed down my face as I sobbed for the life stolen from me. Twice.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>Later, Erik came back to the study with Nadir. The Daroga gave me a small smile and a bow of the head. "Mademoiselle. It's good to see your eyes are open."</p><p>"Monsieur Khan," I greeted.</p><p>"Please call me Nadir." He stepped forward as Erik leaned against a wall, watching the ground with sullen eyes. "I presume Erik told you of the plan."</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>He had, a little while after he told me I'd be staying in Tehran. He'd brought me stew - apparently, the servant who arrived with it didn't die after tasting the food - and informed me that, at least for the time being, I should be moved to a secure, unknown location. The Daroga's home.</p><p>"What," I asked him, "will you say to the Shah if he asks where I am?"</p><p>"I will tell him the truth." Erik set the bowl of food aside, the food emptied from it and in my stomach. "You asked far too many questions, and I was forced to turn you into a crystal ball - so now you have all the answers in the world and won't bother me anymore with your incessant need to know everything."</p><p>There it was. He'd found his acerbic tongue once more.</p><p>"I mean it," I pressed. "What will happen?"</p><p>He didn't respond for a time, only looked down at the blanket covering me, not focusing on anything in particular. He ultimately let out a sigh and said: "You're involved, so I suppose you should know." He cleared his throat. "We told the Shah - and will tell whoever asks, really - that someone attempted to poison my concubine and...you asked, Christine. Unfortunately, that's what you are to the Shah - to the rest of the court. My concubine." His lower lip thinned - he liked it as little as me. "We are claiming that I can't be bothered to care for an invalid - Ibrahim worded it to the Shah with a bit more emphasis on the fact that I'm still ever-so-grateful, of course - and so you will be moved elsewhere. And, as expected, I will visit when I want a..." He shifted, clearly uncomfortable. "When I want to make use of my gift."</p><p>I was horrified. The thought of being used while I couldn't even move... I knew it wasn't reality, but still-</p><p>"The idea is to ensure that everyone thinks your poisoning is a mere inconvenience, as it was likely meant as a message to me." He paused. "Ibrahim knows where you will be. The Shah as well."</p><p>"The Shah knows?" I breathed. "What's the point of moving me if-"</p><p>"The Shah didn't poison you. Apparently, he's quite upset that someone attempted to murder his gift to me. I doubt he's going to say a word of your whereabouts. He's on the hunt for whoever made the move to kill you." He smiled. "It seems his wounded pride overshadows his sadistic nature. Who would have known?"</p><p>So now, with Monsieur Khan in the room, I watched as Erik moved toward me. I gasped as he lifted me into his arms while the Daroga held a bag with my clothes. They walked out of the study, but rather than go to the chamber entrance, they went toward Erik's bedroom.</p><p>"Wait," I murmured.</p><p>"Shh," hushed Erik. "You need to be completely silent where we are going."</p><p>Where are we going?</p><p>For a moment, I thought perhaps he actually was going to use me, that I'd been right all along, but Nadir passed the black and red bed, the dresser of similar colors, and went to the bookshelf. He pushed into the inside of one of the shelves, and I heard a latch click. As though it were as light as a wooden door, he pulled the bookshelf toward him, and I was greeted to the sight of a long, stone hallway, oil lamps along the walls dimly lighting the space.</p><p>"What is this?" I whispered.</p><p>"Christine," breathed Erik, "your constant questions-"</p><p>"This," said Nadir, not yet entering, "is the Echo Hall." He looked at me. "As chief of police, I oversee both the safety of Tehran and the safety of the royal family itself. My spies - called Echoes - patrol this area and report back any suspicious activity going on in the palace. You can hear everything in here. A very select few know about it."</p><p>"Be honored, Christine," mused Erik. "You're part of Nadir's Special Club."</p><p>The Daroga ignored him. "This is how we will find out who poisoned you. It is also how we will pass through the palace undetected by anyone who may want to make another attempt on your life."</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The Boy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>My arms and legs dangled limply as my head rested against Erik's sharp collarbone. I knew I looked like a rag-doll in his arms. I knew I appeared helpless - ridiculous, even. But if either of the men thought so too, they kept it to themselves.</p><p>I stayed completely silent as they walked through the hall - a series of halls, as it turned out, winding through the Golestan Palace. As they made turns, walked down stairs, stopped to listen and then proceed, I noted that we didn't pass a single soul. Not a sign of these so-called Echoes.</p><p>I wondered if any Echoes had been listening in on Erik. On me. If they had, could they speak or understand French? Erik obviously knew about Echo Hall, so was he content being spied on constantly? These questions burned on my tongue, but I didn't open my mouth to spit them out. I'd been told to stay quiet - and there was a very good reason for it; for every so often, I could hear Persian voices, clear as though they were in the hall with us. Whatever these walls were made of, however they'd been constructed, sound cut through them like the sharpest of knives.</p><p>Besides, I suspected Erik might open his arms, drop me to the ground, and walk off if I asked him to answer yet another inquiry.</p><p>'Here's an interesting fact for you, Christine.'</p><p>I looked at Erik. He was making his whisper sound in my ear again.</p><p>'Outside of the Echoes - and Nadir, of course -  you, Ibrahim, and I are the only ones who know this exists.'</p><p>I raised my eyebrows at him.</p><p>'That's right.' He smiled. 'The Shah's father knew, but wanted it to be hidden to his descendants. Only the Daroga and his spies were to hold its secret - that way, not even members of the royal family could accidentally let slip that it exists. We turned left. Still no sign of the Echoes. So now, with the death of the Shah's father, Echo Hall will remain hidden even to the leader of Persia - and to every leader to come.'</p><p>And yet the Daroga had told Erik - had shown it to me as well.</p><p>Why?</p><p>We went down a set of stairs, through another long corridor, and finally up a flight. This final set of stairs ended abruptly into the ceiling. I'd thought, perhaps, that this was a strange sort of dead end, when Nadir pushed on the ceiling, and a square door opened, a rug flapping over with the door - likely hiding its existence in the floor of wherever we now were. Nadir continued up the stairs, and Erik followed with me in his arms.</p><p>We were in a study. A globe stood in the corner, and rows upon rows of bookshelves lined the walls. A beautiful wooden desk was placed against the window, a couch next to it.</p><p>Erik went to the couch and placed me gently upon it. His rubbed at his arms absentmindedly and turned to Nadir. I felt a bit of guilt - it had to be exhausting carrying an adult woman for so long.</p><p>"So," Erik started, "where will Christine-"</p><p>"Erik?"</p><p>The voice came from a room away - it was small; a child's. Immediately, Erik's entire demeanor changed. His head lifted a bit higher, eyes alight, and he smiled in real happiness. He turned to the door. "Is that who I think it is?" he called, every syllable playful.</p><p>The child's voice returned. "Erik!" Small footsteps and then a persistent knock at the door.</p><p>Nadir snorted and opened the door. Indeed, a small child - perhaps five or six years old - barreled in, running toward...the desk?</p><p>Before he could make impact, however, Erik scooped him up and brought him to sit on his shoulders.</p><p>"Reza!" said Nadir lowly, glaring at the boy. "What did I say about walking slowly?"</p><p>"It's all right, Father, Erik always catches me!" The boy grinned, his hands on Erik's head. His eyes, bluish-green like his father's, were alive with joy. "Right, Erik?"</p><p>"Right." Erik looked entirely pleased with the annoyed look on Nadir's face. He held onto Reza's legs to stop them from swinging.</p><p>I stared at him, eyes wide. This Erik was certainly no Angel of Death. I looked to Nadir. "This is your son?"</p><p>The boy's face looked surprised, but he didn't turn to me. He stared at the wall, listening.</p><p>"Yes," replied Nadir. "This is my son."</p><p>"He speaks French."</p><p>Nadir nodded. "I speak Persian, French, and Russian. I thought it beneficial to Reza that he learn those languages, as well. An educated child is a successful man."</p><p>"Who's that?" asked Reza, still on Erik's shoulders.</p><p>"This is Christine," said Erik, turning to me. He looked so light with the little boy on his shoulders.</p><p>Reza smiled, still not looking in my direction. "Hello, Christine. I'm Reza Khan."</p><p>"Hello," I said, "it's good to meet you, but I'm down here, Reza. Can't you see me?"</p><p>"No. I'm blind."</p><p>Oh.</p><p>That explained his immediate excitement with Erik. He had no idea what he looked like. All he knew was that Erik was kind to him.</p><p>"Why are you down there?" Reza asked. "Are you short?"</p><p>Erik laughed - a lovely sound. I hadn't heard it until now, but I wanted more of it. "She is. But that's not why she's down there." He looked at me, regret now mixed in with his mirth. "She needs to lie down right now."</p><p>Nadir went to the doorway and looked out. He spoke to someone, but it was in Persian.</p><p>"Why?" asked Reza.</p><p>"Well..." Erik looked down, thinking. "Her body is asleep, but her mind is awake."</p><p>"Oh, I see," he said, but he looked quite puzzled. "How do we wake her body up?"</p><p>"That's what we need to figure out."</p><p>"Reza." Nadir went to Erik's side and looked up at his son. "Parvana said that you haven't eaten dinner. She said that you insisted on playing instead."</p><p>Reza's face fell. Erik patted his legs.</p><p>"You need to eat your meals, Reza." Nadir crossed his arms. "All of them."</p><p>"But eating is no fun." The boy crossed his arms right back. "Erik never eats and he's all right."</p><p>"Don't take Erik's lead, Reza. He's a madman."</p><p>"I resent that." Erik turned fully to Nadir. "It's true, but I resent it."</p><p>"Can I stay in here with Erik for a while longer?" asked Reza.</p><p>"No." Nadir's tone was final.</p><p>Reza pouted. "Please, Father?"</p><p>Erik pouted too. "Yes, please, Father?"</p><p>Nadir scoffed. "Really, I-"</p><p>"I know something fun!" Erik grinned. "Let's play a game of picture charades. Nadir and me on one team; Christine and Reza on another. Christine and I will draw pictures, and Reza and Nadir will guess what they are."</p><p>Reza and I spoke at the same time:</p><p>"I can't see, Erik."</p><p>"I can't move, Erik."</p><p>He pursed his lips in faux contemplation. "I suppose that would pose a problem. Then how about we modify it? Nadir draws a picture, and Christine and I criticize how God-awful his art skills are."</p><p>"And what about me?" asked Reza.</p><p>"You," said Nadir, annoyance growing in his voice, "will go and eat your dinner."</p><p>The boy's face fell. He leaned forward, pushing onto Erik's head. "Erik."</p><p>Nadir looked away, shaking his head. I saw bitterness in his eyes, and I could guess why; Reza hadn't even greeted his own father before running straight to Erik - well, running straight at a desk, but the sentiment was there.</p><p>Erik must have seen the same, for he patted Reza's leg again and said, "Your father is right. You should do as he says."</p><p>Reza groaned, but this didn't stop Erik from bringing him from his shoulders and putting him into Nadir's arms, who brought him out of the study.</p><p>But when Erik let go of the Daroga's son, I noticed the hardness return. It was as though clinging onto another person - a person who was unable to see his ugliness - had lifted some great burden in him.</p><p>My father always said that children and animals are the most honest creatures on Earth.</p><p>Ayesha purred when she was near him, and this blind little boy's face lit when he realized Erik was here.</p><p>Whatever they saw in him, it wasn't his face and it wasn't his profession.</p><p>It was something deeper.</p><p>And, apparently, something profoundly good.</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. The Daroga</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Daroga's house was massive.</p><p>Though only two stories in height, it was expansive in length. This was clear to me as I was carried through. I caught a glimpse of the kitchen before I was brought upstairs by Erik. It was a large, colorful tiled room, and a woman in a headscarf was cleaning. She noticed me being carried, and nodded to me.</p><p>The upstairs floor was nothing but bedrooms and bathing rooms. Ten bedrooms in all - right now, Nadir had one, Reza had one, and four were taken by his servants: Parvana, Reza's nanny; Mitra, the housemaid I'd seen cleaning; Nazneen, the cook; and Darius, Nadir's personal assistant. This meant that there were a total of four empty bedrooms. One of them would be mine for the time being. Nadir chose a room in the middle of all of the servants' rooms - apparently, two servants offered to work extra hours in order to be of assistance.</p><p>Mitra volunteered to help me when it came to relieving and cleaning myself (she'd had and lost a crippled daughter and actually wanted the task). Nazneen found me interesting; she wanted to help me eat. Both women had kind, friendly faces, and when they smiled at me after Nadir's introduction - though they couldn't speak French - I felt immediately safe.</p><p>But then, when Erik announced later that night that he had to go, I surprised myself by feeling what I'd felt as I'd watched Amir walk away from the Angel of Death's door.</p><p>Left behind.</p><p>Erik had become familiar - and I didn't want him to go. As he turned to leave the room, a pit grew in my stomach. But I didn't know how to express this without sounding like a desperate child, so I blurted:</p><p>"Wait."</p><p>He turned and watched me, waiting.</p><p>I bit my lip. "What if..." I started. "What if I need you?"</p><p>He didn't move as I felt my face heat at my own words. Here it comes: a snide remark that would likely embarrass me for asking an irritating question.</p><p>Erik looked down. "You don't need me, Christine."</p><p>He said nothing else before he left, but I could see the unspoken thought in his eyes, his posture, his tone: No one needs me. No one ever will. Not in the way I want to be needed.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - - </p><p>I was bored.</p><p>I was really bored.</p><p>Reza apparently had reading and writing lessons with a tutor until bedtime (which was early), so though I heard him protesting that he wanted to enter my room, Nadir told him no.</p><p>The window was right by my bed, but the blue curtains were drawn. This was most frustrating of all. I wanted more than anything to look outside and see activity - but I knew why I couldn't. Not only could I physically not pull back the curtain, but we were very close to the palace, so doing so may make my whereabouts known to someone unfriendly.</p><p>So I was forced to do nothing but stare at the ceiling. At least his walls and ceiling weren't covered in silver and gold - they were tiled, painted, or plain white. His interior decoration was much more calming.</p><p>But when I was paralyzed from the shoulders down, calming wasn't necessarily what I wanted; as it stood, the only activity in the room was the clock ticking on the wall, counting every second that I lay here useless.</p><p>I mean, I couldn't even draw-</p><p>My breath stopped in my throat.</p><p>I couldn't draw.</p><p>If I never recovered, I'd never draw again.</p><p>This hadn't occurred to me before - not even earlier when Erik joked about it. But it was true. The thing I loved doing more than anything was gone. Forever. Like my father, my home.</p><p>I panicked as reality set in. My heart beat rapidly, and I couldn't help the sharp intake of breath that let to an equally sharp exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Faster and faster until the world seemed to be spinning. I cried out, feeling trapped and so, so alone.</p><p>Mitra opened the door and went to my side, concern in her large, brown eyes. She asked me a question, but I couldn't understand her. My loneliness increased, and tears went down my face. She shushed me and wiped them away, before saying one last phrase soothingly and leaving the room. I continued crying as she reappeared, trailed by Nadir.</p><p>He took a look at me and sighed, eyes saddened. He spoke shortly to Mitra, who nodded and left, closing the door behind her. The Daroga thinned his lips and found a seat in an armchair across the room.</p><p>"What is troubling you?" he asked.</p><p>I shook my head and closed my eyes. If I spoke it aloud, the panic would set in again.</p><p>"I can guess." He cleared his throat. "You are angry that the Shah poisoned you."</p><p>My eyes flew open and I stared at him. "Erik..." I swallowed down my tears. "Erik said he didn't."</p><p>Nadir nodded and looked down. He put his hands together in his lap and leaned forward, glasses sliding a fraction down his hooked nose. "It's true that we still don't know who tampered with your tea." He paused. "Did Erik say why we think you were poisoned?"</p><p>"To threaten him."</p><p>"Yes." His eyes rose to me again. "And why would it be a threat to Erik?"</p><p>I stared. "Because...because-"</p><p>"Because you are his concubine. So, it would stand to reason that he would care what happens to you; if not because he cares for you, then because no man wants his property damaged or destroyed - especially something so prized as a woman."</p><p>I felt sick at his words.</p><p>"Now, why are you Erik's concubine?"</p><p>I furrowed my brows. "I don't-"</p><p>"Who gifted you to him? Who selected you from the Garden? Who ordered you to be taken from France? Who created the Garden in the first place?"</p><p>"The...the Shah."</p><p>"Yes." His eyes were focused on me. "So, Christine, following that line of thinking: who is responsible for your poisoning?"</p><p>I didn't say it. Instead, I watched him. The Daroga was speaking dangerous words, and I didn't dare follow in his lead.</p><p>He seemed to read my mind and smiled. "You don't have to answer." He leaned back. "You know, this house didn't used to exist. Not until the late Shah of Persia had it built. There are only two entrances to Echo Hall - Erik's chambers and - what used to be - a hidden outside trap door. This house was built around the door. And until Erik arrived, his rooms were designated as on-site living chambers for me. Technically, neither this house nor those chambers are mine - they are designated as the Daroga's, meaning that should I leave my position, I will leave this house as well, and it will be occupied by the next chief of police."</p><p>I stayed silent, listening.</p><p>"The current Shah doesn't know about either entrance. He doesn't know about Echo Hall at all."</p><p>"Erik told me," I said softly.</p><p>He raised his eyebrows. "When?"</p><p>"While we were inside the Hall."</p><p>He blinked, and then chuckled. "Ah. His little voice trick."</p><p>I nodded.</p><p>"And I'm sure you noticed none of my spies."</p><p>"Were they hidden?"</p><p>"Yes. If they see anyone else in the Hall, they must turn and flee until they can't see or be seen by another person anymore." Another pause. "The Shah doesn't know about my Echoes, either. And they are not to make themselves known to him. They are sworn under Allah to blindly follow my command. They are bound to secrecy about where they patrol and what they hear, even amongst one another. They are not allowed, in fact, to talk to one another at all. The penalty for breaking these oaths is death - at my hands, no less." He crossed a leg over another. "I told Erik for a reason."</p><p>"What reason?"</p><p>"Ah." He smiled. "That is an answer for another day, I think. But to answer the question that may concern you - no, I do not have the Echoes spy on Erik's chambers. He has a certain distaste for being stared at, and so I respect him by giving him that privacy."</p><p>I looked away. That was a relief, at least.</p><p>There was a stretch of silence, and when I felt that I was no longer on the edge of breaking, I said, "I can't draw anymore."</p><p>"You draw."</p><p>"I did."</p><p>"Is that why you were crying?"</p><p>I nodded.</p><p>"I see." He paused. "How much tea did you drink? The poisoned tea, I mean."</p><p>"Only a sip."</p><p>"Then you may recover yet."</p><p>My gaze found him smiling. "You think so?"</p><p>"I do." He narrowed his eyes. "I sent that letter to your father."</p><p>My eyes widened. "When?"</p><p>"The day after you were given to Erik." He cleared his throat. "I know that he thinks you'll never be able to go home, but I disagree. I do think we should err on the side of caution and wait to see if you have a home at all back in France. But if your father writes back, I think we can send you with little issue."</p><p>"Erik said he doesn't think I should travel on my own-"</p><p>"And I agree."</p><p>"And he said that he doesn't trust anyone to escort me."</p><p>He rolled his eyes. "I told him I could send you home with Darius. He doesn't even trust Darius, Allah above." He thought for a moment, shaking his head. "Christine, what happened to you is despicable. And I don't just mean the poisoning. I mean the fact that you are here and not in Paris. We can count some small blessings, at least, that you are with Erik and not in the Garden. Abuse is rampant in that little slice of Hell."</p><p>I wanted to tell him how true his words were - that Erik hadn't even touched me. "Have you...have you ever..."</p><p>"Visited? No, of course not. I don't delight in seeing women raped." His eyes darkened. "But the Shah does."</p><p>Again, dangerous words. I didn't respond, scared of the direction this conversation was going.</p><p>"Christine," he said, "I think I must tell you - and I think you already know - that the Shah is an evil man." His shadowy expression remained. "Five years ago, when Reza was only a year old, his mother - my wife - was killed at his hands."</p><p>My stomach dropped. "I'm sorry, Monsieur Khan."</p><p>"Now, I tell you this because the only people you are capable of telling already know what happened as well as my feelings around it - telling Erik or the Grand Vizier will have little consequence - of course, you could tell Reza, but I doubt that would have much consequence, either." He smiled grimly. "I'm also telling you because I think it's important that you know whose side your friends are on."</p><p>My friends? Was he referring to himself and Erik? Even Ibrahim?</p><p>"My wife," he began, "was named Rookheeya. She was beautiful, intelligent, and kind. Far too good for me. We had just started a family when I decided I no longer wanted my position as Daroga - I see far too much death and wanted only light in my life. The current Shah had just come into power after the death of his father. I asked him to dismiss me from my duties. He refused, and I only continued to beg. He finally asked why - and so I said that I wanted to focus on my wife and son. Well, I think he felt threatened by the prospect of my choosing Rookheeya and Reza over him, so he accused my wife of infidelity - falsely - and punished her accordingly."</p><p>I looked away, feeling sick. Accordingly. What on Earth could accordingly look like as a punishment for unfaithfulness?</p><p>His voice was neutral - somehow neutral. "He had her abused by twenty-two men - one for every year she had chosen to 'disgrace Persia with her worthless life' - the Shah's words, Christine, not mine. I was forced to watch this happen. And when that torture was done, she was beheaded. A warning, you see. The message was clear: try leaving and your son will suffer, too."</p><p>Oh, God.</p><p>I felt dizzy with disgust. That story couldn't be real. It was too gruesome to be-</p><p>But it definitely could. I'd seen how the Shah smiled at the screaming, pitiful taste-tester as he was forced to drink poison.</p><p>That man was capable of what Nadir described.</p><p>"I want the Shah to die, Christine." He spoke softly. "I've been wanting him to die for five years. Erik knows. Ibrahim Jahandir as well. They both are fully aware, both very much on board." His lips thinned. "I've watched as he's stolen women's lives - your life, my wife's life - and tortured those who dare speak out against his tyranny. I've seen him take great pleasure in others' pain - far too great of pleasure. I've realized with dread how he became, not his gentle and clever father, but his cruel and manipulative mother. In my forty years of life, I've never met anyone so sadistic, believe you me."</p><p>He stood from his chair, staring down at me with incredibly calm and collected features, a voice just as steady.</p><p>"I don't just want him to die," he said, eyes blazing on his serene face. "I want him to suffer."</p>
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The Visit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The light flickered on in the room, and my eyes opened with great effort. For a moment, I forgot where I was. It was only when I noticed the blue curtains that I remembered.</p><p>"Rise and shine, Christine."</p><p>I turned, squinting, to see Erik walking toward the armchair Nadir had sat in to tell me his story. He brought himself down onto it fluidly, a book in his hand. He smiled when he noticed me looking at him.</p><p>I turned toward the clock. Feeling like it couldn't be right, I looked at the window. Still dark. I placed my gaze on Erik.</p><p>"What time is it?" I asked, voice thick with sleep.</p><p>"Five in the morning," he responded simply, turning the book over in his hands.</p><p>Five in the-</p><p>I furrowed my brows. "It's early."</p><p>"Or, in my case, very late at night." He held the book up, showing me its leather-bound cover. "I brought you a story."</p><p>"Does Nadir know you're here?"</p><p>"He does not."</p><p>"Isn't his house locked?"</p><p>"Yes, but Echo Hall isn't."</p><p>Oh. Right.</p><p>"However," he continued, "even if I had chosen the front door, I'd have gotten in anyway. I can pick a lock easily. But, alas, you know what they say, Christine: You can pick your friends, and you can pick your locks; but picking your friends' locks will vex them royally, and they won't let you come in through the front door anymore - so you now have to use secret tunnels full of mysterious shadow people." He shrugged.</p><p>"How is coming through Echo Hall better than coming in through the front door?"</p><p>"It's not - but I was given permission to use the Hall to come here; I didn't have permission to break and enter. Shocking, I know." He tapped his book with his long thumb.</p><p>"You could simply let him know you're outside."</p><p>"I tried that. Apparently, when cats yowl outside windows and scratch at the glass it's 'a bit annoying' and 'what cats do'. But when I do it, I'm 'being disturbing' and 'upsetting the servants, Erik'."</p><p>"I feel," I said softly, "as though you have some sort of aversion to knocking."</p><p>His mismatched eyes lit in surprise, and then he grinned widely. "So she has a sense of humor." He held up the book again. "Ready for the story?"</p><p>"What story?"</p><p>"A fairy-tale," he said, still smiling. "They're my favorite. Never really had a taste for realism, honestly."</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"Why? Well, I suppose that reality is dreadful enough as it is, so I-"</p><p>"No, I mean," I said, "why did you bring a story?"</p><p>"Oh!" He went to the edge of the seat. "I imagined you probably missed the sound of my voice."</p><p>I sighed.</p><p>"So, let's get started." He opened up the book to the first page. "Once upon a time, there was a prince. He was so dashingly handsome, that he seduced all of the ladies in the land - and even received a few marriage proposals from them, too. But one day, the Prince Eric heard about-"</p><p>"You're the prince in this story?" My brows shot up.</p><p>"No," he said impatiently, "my name is spelled with a K. The prince's name is spelled with a C. Keep up, Christine."</p><p>I looked away, at the ceiling.</p><p>"One day," he continued, "he heard about a maiden who was being held hostage by a great, red, fiery dragon. So Prince Eric went to the dragon's lair. The maiden..." He looked at me. "Is your name spelled with a C or a K?"</p><p>"C."</p><p>"Then the maiden Kristine - with a K -"</p><p>"This is made-up!" I exclaimed.</p><p>"Very good, Christine: you've figured out how fiction works."</p><p>My eyes widened and went around in their sockets.</p><p>"Did you just..." He closed the book, cocking his head at me with narrowed eyelids. "Did you just...roll your eyes at me?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>"No?" He gave a devilish smile. "I watched you do it."</p><p>"Sorry."</p><p>His smile faded, as though my apology were a great disappointment. "No matter." He then placed the book, open and pages downward, on his head, wearing it like a hat. "But yes, you're correct, the book is nothing but blank paper. Anyway-"</p><p>Just then, the doorknob jiggled. "Erik!" Nadir's voice. "Unlock this door."</p><p>I stared at Erik in shock. He locked the door? He didn't say anything, only sat silently, looking at the jiggling doorknob with vague amusement.</p><p>"Erik, I know you're in there." Nadir's voice was tired. "I could hear you."</p><p>He stretched. "Good morning, Nadir! How are you?"</p><p>"How did you get into my house?"</p><p>"Echo Hall. You told me I could use it to come here."</p><p>"When invited."</p><p>"Hm." He looked up, as if searching his memories. "I guess I didn't hear that part."</p><p>"That's because you have selective hearing." The doorknob jiggled again. "Open the door."</p><p>"Don't you have a key?"</p><p>"It's an inside-only lock and you know that."</p><p>"Have you tried knocking?"</p><p>A deep sigh of frustration sounded from the other side, and then a more-than-aggressive knock. Silence and stillness. "Erik?"</p><p>He looked at me and shrugged, the book still on his head. "Looks like knocking actually doesn't do anything."</p><p>"Erik!"</p><p>"Oh, fine." He got up, wearing his hat of pages, and went to the door, unlocking and opening it.</p><p>"Erik, I-" Nadir started, then paused. "What in Hell do you have on your head?"</p><p>"A book."</p><p>"Why do - no, actually, I don't want to know." I couldn't see him, but I could imagine his exasperated expression. "Erik, you need permission to come here."</p><p>"I was visiting my gift!" he protested.</p><p>"You still need permission."</p><p>"I'll keep that in mind, going forward."</p><p>"No, you won't."</p><p>He took the book off of his head. "So, is breakfast almost ready? I'd love some coffee." He turned to me. "And you, Christine? Are you hungry? Thirsty?"</p><p>"Do you know the time?" asked Nadir.</p><p>"Morning." He leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms. "Morning-time is breakfast-time."</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>Nazneen was awake as it was, so she insisted that preparing me breakfast (and Erik coffee) was little issue. Nadir gave her money on the spot, glaring at Erik.</p><p>As soon as the food and drinks were brought up to the room, she got ready to help me eat and drink tea. Erik, however, gently dismissed her. She didn't argue - not because she didn't want to assist me, but because it would likely be unwise to raise conflict with the Angel of Death.</p><p>Erik set the breakfast tray on the bedside table and helped me to a sitting position.</p><p>And, to my delight, my spine was functioning again. So long as I was propped against pillows, I could sit up. My legs and arms remained useless, however.</p><p>Erik was pleased. "A few more days and you may be on your feet again."</p><p>I nodded, actually smiling - for the first time, I realized, since meeting Erik. His eyes found my lips and there was a sudden, strange expression in them. My smile faded, and so did the expression.</p><p>Feeling a bit more hopeful, I drank slowly from the cup of tea Erik pressed to my mouth - and though it was still slightly embarrassing being fed food like a baby, he didn't make any remarks about it. He hadn't done so yesterday when he fed me stew, either. I was grateful for it. If I'd been made a fool for this, I would have just refused to eat.</p><p>"You know," he said, stabbing a bit of egg with the fork, "your drawings are still on the coffee table."</p><p>"Oh." I looked at him. "You can dispose of them if you want."</p><p>His gaze went to mine in alarm. "Dispose of them?"</p><p>I nodded. "If they're taking up space. I can always draw more." I paused. "Well, maybe I can draw more. If I continue to get better."</p><p>He lowered the fork to the plate. "Even if they were taking up space, why would I dispose of them? They're your creations."</p><p>I would have shrugged if I could. "I just...I wasn't sure if they were a nuisance."</p><p>"Well, they're not." He stared at me intently. "You know, singing is something you can do without the use of your arms or legs. There aren't many activities that only require your core."</p><p>I waited for him to continue.</p><p>"I know I asked you before, and you said no, but would you reconsider letting me hear you sing something? Perhaps I could give you lessons. It could give us both something to do."</p><p>I was taken aback. The request was almost too genuine.</p><p>But it wasn't exactly surprising.</p><p>I remembered him saying that he wanted "to do something good for once" - and how he felt he'd lost his chance to do just that. He'd said that he wanted "to put something right rather than be a force for destruction." I had to imagine how hard it would be to see all of my creativity go into death and pain - maybe that was why he felt so strongly against discarding my drawings. They were simple and wholesome, and I wondered just how little simplicity and wholesomeness he currently had in his life.</p><p>And that could be why he wanted to give me lessons.</p><p>Simple. Wholesome.</p><p>So, maybe I could let him have this little thing from me - he'd left my body alone, but he could play with my voice if he wanted to.</p><p>And - true - it would relieve my boredom.</p><p>Taking a deep breath, closing my eyes so that I didn't have to look at him watch me, I opened my mouth to sing.</p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. The Violinist</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The moment I finished the song, all I heard was silence. I opened my eyes to find Erik staring at me with wide eyes, disbelief in them, his lips just slightly apart. When he realized, however, that I was looking back at him, he blinked and turned away. He swallowed.</p><p>"I think," he said, voice thick, "that you could absolutely use lessons."</p><p>My face heated in shame. "I told you that I didn't want to sing."</p><p>He whipped his eyes to mine. "No, I don't - I don't mean to say-" He closed his mouth for a moment. "Your voice is actually...it's quite good."</p><p>Not just not terrible, as my art had been. Rather, quite good.</p><p>"Thank you," I said softly.</p><p>Erik nodded, staring at me with an expression of wonder and fear; like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, looking out over a breathtaking landscape, knowing taking another step would be deadly but wanting to be closer to the source of the beauty.</p><p>He cleared his throat and said, "It merely needs some...some polishing and tuning. That's all." He paused. "If you'll excuse me." He got up, nearly tripped over his own feet, and swiftly went to the door to leave. I could have been mistaken, but I believe his hands were shaking when his fingers gripped the doorknob.</p><p>Nazneen returned a few minutes later to help me finish my breakfast.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - - </p><p>Several hours later, a small knock came at my door.</p><p>"Come in," I called.</p><p>I was sitting up against the headboard, cushioned by pillows - I'd elected to stay that way now that I could - with my un-moving hands in my blanket-covered lap. I turned and looked to the door as it opened, to find Reza, trailed by Parvana. Though Reza walked in, a mustard-colored polished cane in hand that tapped and lightly swung on the ground in front of him, his nanny stayed in the doorway. She looked at me apologetically and asked me a question.</p><p>I shook my head. "Sorry. I only speak French."</p><p>"She asked if it's all right if I come in." Reza beamed, his eyes glassed over. "Father said earlier that I can if it's all right with you, as long as I'm finished with my Russian lessons."</p><p>I smiled and nodded to the woman in the doorway. "Yes, it's fine with me."</p><p>Reza didn't turn around when he spoke to Parvana, who nodded back and turned, not closing the door.</p><p>"We have to keep the door open," he said, as if it were a nuisance. He walked forward and his cane found the bed. "Is this a chair?"</p><p>"It's a bed."</p><p>"Oh."</p><p>"Why didn't I see you with that cane before?"</p><p>"I don't like using it," he explained. "I like when Erik is around; he puts me on his shoulders and I don't have to use it." He picked it up as if to show me. "Using it makes me feel different because no one else has to." He tapped the bed again, and placed a small tentative hand out to feel for the mattress and sheets. "Can I sit with you?"</p><p>"If you'd like. But be careful not sit on my legs. I can't move them out of the way."</p><p>He nodded and placed his cane gingerly on the floor. He felt around the sheets for my legs - but I was far enough inward that his short arms didn't find them. Content with his results, he put his palms on the mattress and pulled himself up, bringing his knees to the surface and turning himself around, so that I could see his profile. His legs swung from the edge of the bed.</p><p>"Father said you're Erik's friend," he said then.</p><p>"Mhmm."</p><p>"Are you visiting from France?"</p><p>I looked down. "I suppose you could say that."</p><p>"What is France like? Do you like it there?"</p><p>"I do." I paused. "It's very pretty. I miss it."</p><p>At the word "pretty", his face deflated. "How long are you staying here?"</p><p>"I'm...not really sure, Reza." I wanted to change the subject. "Do you have any favorite animals?"</p><p>His interest returned - his back straightened and he smiled with his entire face. "I like tigers!"</p><p>I couldn't help but smile too. "Tigers are ferocious!"</p><p>"I heard they have big sharp teeth!" His legs swung excitedly. "What's your favorite animal?"</p><p>"I like bluebirds."</p><p>He made a face. "Oh."</p><p>I laughed. "I know that's not as exciting as a tiger."</p><p>He smiled again. "Can we be friends?"</p><p>My entire being softened. "Yes, Reza, of course we can."</p><p>"Erik's my friend, too - but I want more friends, because he only comes here sometimes." He cocked his head. "How old are you?"</p><p>"Eighteen."</p><p>"You're older than me."</p><p>I grinned. "Yes. I am."</p><p>"Erik is older too. I'm six. I'll be seven in eight months." He paused again, his legs still swinging, and then brightened. "Oh! I want to show you something."</p><p>"What is it?"</p><p>"I'll be right back." He slid off the bed and reached down for his cane, hurrying - but not running - out of the room, the cane outstretched. He returned minutes later with what looked like a doll in his free hand. He leaned onto the bed, though kept his feet on the floor, and held the doll out.</p><p>It was less doll and more figurine - a tiny man with skin made of porcelain and covered in red silk robes, a scarlet mask on its face. Its feet were attached to a round piece of wood, and in its arms was a black violin.</p><p>"Do you see it?" he asked.</p><p>"I do." I wished I could reach out and take it. "Is it yours?"</p><p>"Yes. Erik gave it to me. He made it."</p><p>Well, that explained why it looked like him - it even had his black hair. Of course he'd create a doll in his own image. But - really, it was a marvel to look at. It was beautiful.</p><p>"It's very nice, Reza. Erik did a wonderful job."</p><p>"I haven't even shown you the best part," he said, his face alight. "Is there a table somewhere?"</p><p>"To your right."</p><p>He didn't move. "Which way is that, again?"</p><p>I giggled. "The cane is in your right hand."</p><p>He nodded and moved to his right. The cane found the table's legs, and he placed the figurine on its surface. He dropped the cane on the bed by me and clapped his hands rapidly. At that, the figurine - its every movement fluid - opened its arms, the bow in one hand and the violin in another. It bent at the waist, deeply, as if Reza were a king.</p><p>I then watched in utter amazement as this tiny automaton put the bow to the strings and played the most exquisite music - as good as my father's.</p><p>"This is incredible," I whispered. Clearly, Erik was an inventor - on top of a magician and musician.</p><p>"And then if I clap again," he said, and did so, "it stops." At his command, the figurine once again bowed, stood straight, and went still.</p><p>"You forgot to mention, Reza," came Erik's voice; he appeared in the doorway, holding papers, "the faster you clap, the faster it plays."</p><p>Reza's face broke into a grin. "You're here!"</p><p>"I am!" That lightness I'd seen before was in every one of his movements as he went to the boy and picked him up, putting him on his shoulders. But he didn't stay standing - instead, he sat on the bed and looked at me. "Good afternoon, Christine."</p><p>"Does Nadir know you're here now?"</p><p>"Yes." He held up the papers. "And I've brought something."</p><p>"Blank paper again?"</p><p>He smiled. "Not this time." He held out the papers for me to look.</p><p>I examined the page in front, and then looked back at him. "Music."</p><p>"Can you read it?"</p><p>Reza spoke up from atop Erik's shoulders. "You can read music? I thought you listened to it."</p><p>"Musicians," explained Erik gently, "need to be able to read music before they can play it. There's a whole alphabet for music."</p><p>"Can you read music, Erik?" he asked.</p><p>"Yes. It's my favorite language."</p><p>"Can Christine?"</p><p>"No," I answered finally. "I can't." I knew that the higher the note was on the set of lines, the higher it was sung or played. But that was it.</p><p>"But I'm sure you could if you learned," said Erik. "You seem intelligent - educated. For example: what is Isaac Newton's law of gravitation?"</p><p>"Er..." What? "Things...fall down?"</p><p>"See?" His eyes glittered. "Quick as a whip."</p><p>I stared at him. He was being exceptionally kind right now. This was odd. Perhaps it was because Reza was here.</p><p>But then he brought Reza from around his shoulders and placed him on the floor, asking him to take his toy and cane and play in his own room. He obeyed - if not with exceptional disappointment. Erik got up and closed the door when he was gone. He turned back to me.</p><p>"I'd like to start teaching you how to sing properly."</p><p>I nodded. "All right."</p><p>"But before I do..." He took a step forward. "Nadir came to my rooms with news." He cleared his throat. "News of who attempted to poison you. And, of course, what that will mean going forward. For me, and for you."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. The Friend</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Who tried to poison me?"</p><p>"A eunuch of the Garden," Erik responded, hands moving behind his back, "named Amir."</p><p>No. I hadn't heard correctly. "Amir?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>A buzzing started in my ears, blocking out all sound and thought. "What-" I felt as though my throat might close. "What did he look like?"</p><p>He gave me a quizzical look. "He was one of the eunuchs who escorted you to my door. Why do you ask?"</p><p>I looked away, down at my pointless hands. I felt cold - dizzy. Sick. Like I'd been poisoned all over again. "I don't understand," I whispered.</p><p>A pause. "Christine, did you know him?"</p><p>I nodded slowly.</p><p>"How?" I heard his footsteps move closer.</p><p>"He was my harem trainer." I put my head against the headboard, moving my gaze to the ceiling. "Are you sure it was him?"</p><p>"Yes. He even confessed to it." I felt his weight on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry."</p><p>"I don't understand. Why would he poison me? There has to be some mistake. He acted like he cared about me." The one real friend I had here - the one person who I felt truly comfortable with - tried to kill me. Tears formed in my eyes. "Why would he-"</p><p>I didn't get to finish my words when a sob wrenched itself from me.</p><p>And the truly pitiful thing?</p><p>I couldn't even wipe the wetness from my face. So I just sat there, face contorted in pain with my eyes closed, as I willed my body to still. But the cries kept coming.</p><p>"I'm alone," I whispered shakily. "I'm actually alone."</p><p>And speaking the words aloud only made the loneliness worse. I didn't think I'd ever see Amir again - but at least I knew that if I ever did, I could confide in him. I didn't feel that way with anyone else here. And now I didn't even have that small comfort.</p><p>"Christine," came Erik's voice, soft and broken.</p><p>I opened my eyes, my breathing still ragged with my cries, to find his eyes watching me, filled with enough despair to outmatch my own.</p><p>"Tell me what to do," he begged. "Tell me how to make you feel like you're not alone."</p><p>I looked down, my breathing slowing at last, though I felt another tear sliding down my cheek. "I just want someone to talk to." I hiccuped lightly. "Really talk to." And, though he was sweet, Reza didn't count. Not for what I needed.</p><p>"You can talk to me," he whispered. "What do you need to talk about?"</p><p>"I mean in general," I said. "I want to feel like...like I have a friend."</p><p>He sighed and nodded. "And I suppose you aren't jumping at the chance to claim me as a friend."</p><p>"I..." I looked him in the eye. "Erik, do you even want to be my friend?"</p><p>"If that's what you need, then yes."</p><p>Again, no sarcasm. He was being genuine. "Why do you care what I need?"</p><p>He looked taken aback. "Why do I care?"</p><p>"You don't even know me," I whispered.</p><p>"And?"</p><p>"And..." I searched for a reason. "I'm just a Garden Flower. I'm...property. By all accounts, you shouldn't care what I think or feel at all."</p><p>"And I'm the Angel of Death." His eyes flashed. "But it's not a role I care for, Christine - and, if I'm not mistaken, I don't believe you entirely adore your Flower title, either. Now, can we stop playing the game of what others have assigned to us, and instead simply be, for the moment?"</p><p>I didn't respond.</p><p>"If you don't want my friendship," he said slowly, "I won't give it to you. But if what you need is a friend, and you're willing to place me in that role, then it's a role I'm willing to play."</p><p>I looked down and nodded. "All right."</p><p>"All right?"</p><p>"All right." I met his gaze. "Yes, I need a friend. And...it would be nice if you were."</p><p>A smile played at his lips. "Then it's settled."</p><p>I looked toward the window - to where the rest of Tehran existed. I'd thought - really thought - that Erik had been trying to lull me into a false feeling of comfort. That he'd jump at the chance to kill me the first moment he could. I'd thought that Amir had my best interests at heart. It was as though, here, I was continuously having the floor shift beneath my feet, and I was constantly finding myself in a new and unfamiliar room.</p><p>"Why did Amir want to poison me?" I asked softly.</p><p>"He is part of a rebel group, against the Shah," he said. "They call themselves the Violet Dawn. At the moment, they are attempting to target me, as they see me as an extension of his murderous arm. His weapon, if you will." His tone was bitter. "And because you are my so-called-wife-"</p><p>"I'm being targeted, too," I breathed.</p><p>"Yes." He regarded me with regret. "Nadir wants you to know that so long as you stay within his house, with him and his servants, you are safe."</p><p>I nodded.</p><p>"But," he added, "I wanted to let you know, that..." His eyes were serious and calm. "That you are safe with me, as well."</p><p>"I know."</p><p>He stilled. "You do."</p><p>"Yes." I felt a small flush - I still wouldn't tell him that I'd heard him talking to my un-moving body, but I felt it unfair to continue letting him think I feared him.</p><p>His gaze softened and looked down. "I do think you should sleep here, and take your meals here, but...but if you want to...well, visit, then-" He gripped the edge of the bed. "We can take Echo Hall to get to my chambers, anytime you'd like." He smiled at me. "After all, I'm much better company than old Nadir, don't you think?"</p><p>I smiled back. "Nadir doesn't wake me up in the middle of the night to bother me, though."</p><p>"That's because he has nothing interesting to say. I'm so interesting that I can recite a story from a blank book."</p><p>I shook my head, still smiling. "So, you'd carry me all the way there and back, again and again?"</p><p>"The hope is, of course, that you'll regain the use of your legs, eventually." He smirked. "But, yes, I don't mind carrying the fair maiden Kristine to and from my lair."</p><p>"With a K?"</p><p>His smirk turned into a grin. "With a K."</p><p>I felt warm - an entire wash of warmth that enveloped me. Like at that dreadful, bloody, horrifying dinner, he was trying - and succeeding - to make me feel better. Changing my mood with a wave of his hand, like the magician that he was.</p><p>And still, he couldn't make disappear the betrayal I felt at my false friend's hands.</p><p>"What will happen to Amir?"</p><p>Erik's smile faded. Slowly, he rose from the bed and went to the dresser across the room. There was a vase of flowers there - he touched one of the petals, softly. "He will be executed."</p><p>Executed.</p><p>And, no doubt, by the Shah's favorite executioner.</p><p>"Erik?"</p><p>"Yes, Christine." He was still facing away from me.</p><p>"Nadir told me."</p><p>His head turned to me, and I could see even through the mask that his brows were stitched. "About?"</p><p>"His feelings toward the Shah."</p><p>At that, his whole body turned. His gaze was absolutely intense, full of doubtful disbelief. "What did he tell you?"</p><p>"That he wants him dead." I held his gaze. "And that you and Ibrahim agree."</p><p>Erik gaped. "He told you that?"</p><p>"Is it true?" I asked softly.</p><p>He closed his mouth, regarded me for a moment, and then shrugged - as if deciding on a whim to divulge this secret to me. "Yes."</p><p>"Then..." I looked at the floor, thinking. "Then the attempt to target you - to kill me - is-"</p><p>"Ironic. Yes. Though, I suppose, not really." He went to the armchair and sat, crossing one ankle over the other knee. I noticed, for the first time, that under his robes were light, silky, baggy pants. "I am killing on the Shah's behalf, after all. The fact that I don't want to - that I'd rather kill him -" He shrugged again, raising his hands to accentuate the gesture this time.</p><p>"Why don't you?"</p><p>"Why don't I what, Christine?" His eyes glittered. "Kill the Shah?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"I would." He smiled simply. "Tomorrow, if it were up to me."</p><p>"But you'd die, wouldn't you?"</p><p>"Oh, yes. Most certainly. And what a tragedy that would be." He smiled again, but it didn't reach his eyes - and the way he said it brought a deeply sad feeling to my gut.</p><p>I wanted to tell him that his sarcasm didn't belong there - that it would be a tragedy - but again those flames inside of him scared me away. I didn't know what would happen if I went near enough to touch them. I didn't want to find out.</p><p>"You see," he continued, "Nadir wants his revenge - I presume you know what happened to his wife."</p><p>"He told me," I whispered, nauseous at the memory. "But how could the Shah trust Nadir to be loyal to him after what happened to her?"</p><p>"I don't think he does trust him," he explained. "I don't think he trusts anyone. That's why he is constantly threatening those around him. Remember how he poisoned the taste-tester? That was a message to us. That should he be betrayed, we can expect to be punished severely."</p><p>"I see." And I did. The Shah wasn't unintelligent - and that was, I think, what made him dangerous. Clever and mean was a nasty marriage of traits.</p><p>"I don't blame Nadir for his bloodthirst, honestly," Erik continued. "My acts, Christine - my magic acts - are just that. They last a while, but the deaths themselves take seconds. The execution you saw...the poisoning? That was, believe it or not, on the very long end of how long the killings last. I don't revel in death; I try to make it quick and as painless as possible. But I trick my audience into thinking it was a long, brutal execution because they tie the magic into the murder."</p><p>I looked at him. I hadn't thought of that - in fact, I'd been fooled into remembering the entire teapot affair as a terrible one. In reality, the poisoning lasted, perhaps, twenty seconds at most. The magic itself was harmless. Take the death away and it was a mere, if not phenomenal, party trick.</p><p>"Nadir, you see," he said, bringing his ankle down and leaning forward, "wants a torturous death for the Shah. But I'm not a torturer - the idea of manually causing someone pain until they die makes me ill - yes, even to the Shah." He cocked his head. "I could do it, I suppose, if I could walk away from the torture; if I could set it in motion and have it be hands-off from there...but even then, I'd want to punish myself for it, as well." He looked away and paused. "You know, before coming here, I only ever killed one man."</p><p>My eyes widened - though whether my shock stemmed from the fact that he'd only killed one before all of this, or had killed at all, I wasn't sure."Why did you kill him?"</p><p>"Because if I hadn't, he would have raped me." His eyes were expressionless as mine filled with horror, my mouth going dry and stomach tightening. Of all the answers I was expecting- "I was...let's see. Twelve years old? Yes. Twelve." He looked up at me and scoffed. "Oh, don't look so troubled, Christine. That's not the only traumatic event that's befallen me. I haven't even gotten to the good parts."</p><p>"Is that..." I tried, but had to start over. My throat had closed in my alarm. "Is that why you were against taking me to bed? Because you were almost..."</p><p>"Raped? You can say it." He got up then, and went to the bedside table, picking up the sheet music he'd placed there before. "And I suppose it may have played a part, but I also don't make a habit of forcing myself onto frightened women regardless. Besides, like I said before, I don't want you." But this time, when he said it, it lacked its previous conviction. "Now-" He held up the sheet music. "How about singing lessons?"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. The Frequenter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Explain to me what you can understand of this."</p><p>Erik gripped the sheet music and held it up, just so far away from my face that I could still clearly see each marking, his long fingers holding the paper steady. He sat on the bed next to me, on the very edge, not near enough that he'd accidentally touch my side.</p><p>"I can understand the words on the page," I responded.</p><p>He smiled lightly. "Yes, Christine, we've established that you can read. What about above the words?"</p><p>"Well," I said, "I know that the first note is sung higher than the second."</p><p>"Good, that's a start." He looked at me. "Do you know where the notes are sung?"</p><p>"No," I answered.</p><p>"Did your father not teach you any music, then?" He brought the sheet music down to his lap.</p><p>"He tried." I exhaled through my nose. "I wasn't really interested. But I'm interested now."</p><p>"Too focused on your artwork, I presume?"</p><p>"Yes." I paused. "And walking around Paris."</p><p>His head tilted slightly to the left. "You like being outside."</p><p>I nodded. "Which is, I suppose, something I won't be able to do for a while." I looked at the window, still mostly covered by the curtain, just a bit of light peeking through, signaling the afternoon hour. "Even when I was training in the Garden, I got to go outside sometimes. But now, being a target..."</p><p>Erik gazed at me, but he wasn't focused on my face - not really. Instead, I saw his mind working behind his green and brown eyes. He looked down at the music for a moment before standing up from the bed entirely. He stood tall, watching a bit of nothing near the ceiling. "Think of music," he said, "as a way to create a picture - art - with sound." He gave a slow, gentle flourish of his hand, fluttering his fingers gracefully. "The paper is the air around us, while the pen is your instrument; or, in your case, your voice. If you close your eyes-" He did so. "-you can even see images and colors form just by listening."</p><p>I smiled. "That's what my father says, actually."</p><p>He opened his eyes slowly and looked at me. "He sounds intelligent."</p><p>"He is." My voice went to a whisper. "Was." I sighed and looked at my covered legs. "Is."</p><p>"Is," said Erik with conviction.</p><p>I met his gaze, and though I knew he had no more clue of my father's status than I did, his confidence made me sit up a bit straighter. "I hope," I said softly.</p><p>"I do, too. Now," he said, bringing one knee onto the bed and leaning onto it, showing me the paper again, "this is what these first few notes sound like." He pointed to the first line of music and opened his mouth.</p><p>He sang.</p><p>And he didn't sing for long - ten seconds, perhaps - but my mind absolutely lit with those vibrant colors he'd mentioned. The breathtaking sound of his voice was, in that moment, the only thing that mattered. Everything else turned to dull, saddening grey in comparison. In those ten seconds, his voice was all I wanted or needed - the lovely vibrato in his tenor sound like a lifeboat in a sea that I hadn't even realized I'd been lost in.</p><p>His voice didn't belong with his body.</p><p>And though I knew that thought was a very cruel one, it was true. His body was frightening; it was too long, too thin, full of pointed edges and harsh features. He looked like death - but the sound his throat made was life-giving.</p><p>He finished, and the world returned - but it was changed now. It was lacking something essential; it was incomplete.</p><p>"Your voice," I breathed, "is beautiful."</p><p>The corner of his lip tugged upward, his eyes still on the page. "Anytime you wish to be serenaded by me, all you need to do is shout your undying devotion to the wind, and, voila, I shall appear."</p><p>I ignored - completely ignored - his sarcasm. "Can you sing again?"</p><p>His lips straightened and his eyes went to mine. He considered my request for a moment, and then obliged.</p><p>This time, he sang the whole song.</p><p>I closed my eyes and let the sound carry me away, far away from here, to somewhere good. Somewhere I was safe, free, and at peace. I stayed there, never wanting to leave - for, there, my father smiled at me, walking with me through Paris, my arms swinging freely, the both of us laughing at the ridiculous clothing choices of the aristocrats who passed us by.</p><p>But I couldn't stay forever.</p><p>The song ended, and I returned to my motionless body, in a room that existed across the world from my Papa.</p><p>And next to me, as before, was Erik - the reason I was in danger but also the reason I was safe. His face from Hell emitting the voice from Heaven; wielding all of the power in the world and no power, actually, at all. A death-bringer with a distaste for pain. Arrogant. Self-deprecating.</p><p>A living contradiction of a man.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - - </p><p>He taught me for an hour, focusing on how to read the music itself. He said that we'd get to my vocal training eventually, but it was more important that I could understand the written notes before I sang them.</p><p>It was only when Nadir knocked on the door to my room and said that dinner was ready, that my stomach growled. Erik put the music down and let me know he was going downstairs to get me food. He was gone longer than I assumed was necessary - by the clock he was grabbing me a plate for twenty minutes.</p><p>When he returned, I understood why. Trailing behind him, chatting merrily in accented French, was Ibrahim. Erik carried a plate of beef and vegetables in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. Ibrahim carried the same, except he held red wine instead of tea.</p><p>"...and it really is delightful, my friend, you must come to see it."</p><p>Erik took a seat on the edge of my bed, placing the cup on the bedside table and the food in his lap. "I think, Ibrahim, I've seen plenty of Persia. But thank you very much for the offer."</p><p>"Your loss, then." Ibrahim found me and grinned infectiously, eyes crinkling in the corners. "It's the Rose!"</p><p>"It's me," I said softly.</p><p>"But this time, with a broken stem." He tsked. "It is a shame." He placed his wine on the table by the armchair and sat. "I heard about who tried to kill you. I never would have suspected a eunuch. I always assume that they're simple-minded people."</p><p>"It's their reproductive organs they're missing, you dolt," said Erik, cutting into a piece of beef, "not their minds. Just because you seem to be in the opposite situation-"</p><p>"Speaking of reproductive organs," Ibrahim interrupted, "I must tell you what happened at the Garden."</p><p>I froze. "You visited the Garden?"</p><p>"Oh, yes!" He took a bite of tomato. "It's one of my favorite places. It's quite fun, really." He put his fork down and sipped at his wine.</p><p>Ibrahim frequents the Garden.</p><p>I didn't know why I was surprised. It was meant for men of his standing - for the highest members of the Persian Court. Ibrahim was the second highest, next to the Shah. Of course he went to the Garden. As far as I knew, he wasn't married - and I doubted that would stop him anyway.</p><p>I believe, perhaps, I was so emotionally exhausted that common sense left me entirely for I asked him, lowly, "So, do you want to kill the Shah because that would be fun, too?"</p><p>Ibrahim choked on his wine. He coughed into the glass and put it and his food on the table, making a fist against his mouth as he sputtered, leaning over. Erik's eyes shone in absolute delight as he grinned at me.</p><p>"I'm sorry," said Ibrahim, "can you please...come again?"</p><p>"She knows," said Erik. He lifted a bit of beef on the fork for me to eat, but I shook my head. I'd lost my appetite. He shrugged and set the plate aside with the tea.</p><p>"She knows?"</p><p>"Yes. Apparently Nadir told her all about his desire for the Shah's blood, and our support for it."</p><p>"Why," asked Ibrahim, eyes rounded, "would Nadir tell her?"</p><p>"I don't know. I'm not his keeper."</p><p>"He told me so that I knew where you all stand," I said, more to Erik than Ibrahim, "and because he knows I feel the same. And, I suppose, can't tell anyone, anyway."</p><p>"Hm," mused Ibrahim, "well, I suppose it would make sense - so that you know you can trust us. That we mean you no harm. We are against those who might seek to harm you...excluding this Violet Dawn group, of course; but they are a misguided bunch. I wish we could tell them where we lie." He paused. "Does knowing make us seem like actual people, or do you still consider us monsters?"</p><p>I didn't look at him.</p><p>"Oh, goodness, Christine, are you angry at me?" Ibrahim asked. When I didn't respond, he laughed.</p><p>Laughed.</p><p>I reddened, and when I felt my face was hotter than the tea next to me, Erik finally glared at the vizier. "Perhaps," he growled, "you should explain yourself a bit better when it comes to your visit to the place Christine was kidnapped to serve in."</p><p>Ibrahim sighed, and didn't say anything for nearly a minute. In that time, Erik held up the tea, blew on it, and helped me drink it. That, I did want. I'd grown thirsty during the lesson.</p><p>"Oh, well, I suppose since we are all revealing secrets today..." Ibrahim sat up straight in his chair. "You ask my motivation, Christine. Quite simply, I find the Shah insufferable, spoiled, and cruel, and it takes a great effort to act pleased and friendly toward him on a day-to-day basis." He smiled wolfishly. "And, as it happens, I am in love with the heir to the throne."</p><p>I blinked at him, my mind reeling at that unexpected information.</p><p>The Shah was too young to have a daughter anywhere near an age appropriate for Ibrahim to pine after. But he could have a sibling.</p><p>"The Shah has a sister?" I asked.</p><p>"No." Ibrahim raised an eyebrow, still smiling. "And even if he did, she wouldn't be the heir."</p><p>"Then I-"</p><p>"He has a brother," he explained slowly. "The Prince. He is currently residing in the Mazandaran Province, northeast of Tehran. The Prince is next in line for the title of Shah."</p><p>Oh... Oh!</p><p>Erik was watching my reaction with interest.</p><p>"You don't like women," I whispered to the Grand Vizier.</p><p>"Oh, I do." Ibrahim leaned back again, crossing a leg over the other knee, swinging his foot up and down. "Very much so. I just also happen to like men. I like everyone. Well, not everyone - sharing a bed with Nadir sounds dreadful, and I suspect he is probably boring under the sheets, can you imagine? - but I'm not entirely picky when it comes to the package our souls are wrapped in." He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. "You see, I only pretend to lay with women in the Garden. In reality, I am very much devoted to the Prince. But going to visit one of the Flowers, and then shooing their touches away while I lay down for an hour...it is honestly one of the best naps I ever get. Their shocked silence is so incredibly peaceful."</p><p>"If you like women too," I asked carefully, "why pretend to lay with them? Why not...actually do so?"</p><p>"Because, like I said, I'm very much taken, and even if I wasn't, I don't need to visit slaves to find willing women."</p><p>"Then why visit at all? Just for a nap?"</p><p>"That's easy, Christine," he said. "It's so that no one would ever suspect my true feelings - I'm far too busy with girls." He looked absolutely proud of himself. "It's a genius plan, yes?"</p><p>"This is why," Erik purred, giving me more tea, "you are the brains between us, Ibrahim."</p><p>"And you're the beauty." He held up his wine in a toast and drank.</p><p>"Of course."</p><p>Ibrahim looked at me over the wine glass. "What does that make Christine?"</p><p>Erik regarded me a moment, and then - mischief in his gaze - picked up my pointless arm, bringing it high, and then dropping it to my lap. "The muscle."</p><p>And the visual of my own arm falling limply like that was so ridiculous, as was his remark, that I giggled - very much despite myself.</p><p>At my laughter, Erik's eyes flashed something close to pleasure.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - - </p><p>Ibrahim left a short while later, telling Erik he had to go soon as well to prepare for the execution tomorrow.</p><p>Amir's execution.</p><p>I tried not to think about it.</p><p>"When will you come back?" I asked Erik.</p><p>He stood in the doorway, holding the sheet music in one hand. "When would you like me to?"</p><p>I thought of his singing, of how it made me feel. I wanted more of it. I didn't want to wait. "Soon."</p><p>He stared at me a moment, a gentle expression in his eyes, and said softly, "Tomorrow night. I'll let Nadir know I'm coming."</p><p>He left.</p><p>And though I didn't dare say this aloud to myself, I knew that I missed that sound already.</p><p>I missed his voice.</p>
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<a name="section0016"><h2>16. The Stars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I awoke with dawn's yellow sun beaming through the window.</p><p>Until now, my dreams had been feverish - chaotic and unfamiliar - or nonexistent entirely. Last night, however, I dreamed of peace. Soft orange and light blue hues, twinkling light, laughter, and kind eyes. My father's violin. Erik's voice. Reza's swinging legs. Happy, good things.</p><p>Though I felt well-rested, my eyes were heavy with the deep sleep I'd enjoyed. I lifted my hands to rub at my eyes, letting my fingers massage my eyelids as I yawned.</p><p>I gasped aloud.</p><p>My hands.</p><p>I held them in front of my face, making fists and flexing them, marveling at how I could move my arms at will. I smiled widely. I couldn't stop the squeal of delight, and the laughter that immediately followed.</p><p>I could move my hands!</p><p>I could draw!</p><p>My legs remained inaccessible, but I didn't entirely care.</p><p>The door opened and Mitra appeared, eyes wide. I brought myself - my own self! - to a sitting position and waved both of my hands in front of me, grinning with more fervor than I had since being taken from Paris. It took seconds for her to understand, and when she did, she smiled as well. She brought her hands to her mouth and spoke quickly, excitedly - I had no idea what she said, but I could see the joy in her eyes that reflected mine.</p><p>I remembered what I'd learned of her daughter and felt immediate kinship with her.</p><p>She hurried away, and came back minutes later with Nadir. He walked into the room already beaming.</p><p>"I hear you have use of your entire upper body now," he said, as Mitra assisted my moving backward to sit against the headboard. This was still difficult without my legs' help.</p><p>"Yes!" I giggled. It didn't matter to me that I sounded like a child given a shiny new toy. I was higher than the sun in the sky.</p><p>"This is excellent news, Mademoiselle Daae." Nadir's eyes shone behind his glasses. "Would you like to use your newfound arms to eat breakfast on your own, then?"</p><p>I nodded vigorously, nearly bouncing up and down in my ecstasy. "And paper. May I have paper? And a pen? Please?"</p><p>I wanted so badly to draw.</p><p>Nadir laughed and said, "Of course."</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>I made art the entire day.</p><p>I drew until my hands hurt - but I told my aching fingers to quiet their complaints, that I missed them and they would have to deal with the work I was putting them through. I took barely any rest between each drawing, only stopping periodically to reach out and feel the blanket, the side table, the oil lamp beside me - activities I never thought I'd need to take time to appreciate.</p><p>It was an incredible relief to eat, to rub at my own face when I needed, to have some sort of control over my surroundings. I felt power return to me. I felt no longer helpless.</p><p>Reza came to my room to spend time with me, excited that I could now hold his hand while we talked. He was, unfortunately, soon called away to be tutored in French - honestly, I felt that his French was better than some Parisians' use of the language, but this wasn't my place to say.</p><p>Nazneen arrived with my dinner, pleased that I could move. She stayed only until she was sure that I could eat as I had this morning, and then left me alone to eat. I quickly ate about half my meal, decided I was decently full, put the plate aside, and continued to draw.</p><p>And then, when night fell, my bedroom door opened once more.</p><p>Erik.</p><p>I looked up from my current drawing - a cat, that looked very much like Ayesha, sitting by a fireplace - to see him watching me wide-eyed in the doorway. He looked at my moving hands, at the dozens of drawings strewn about the bed. I gave him a joyful expression and waved. His lips lengthened into a genuine smile.</p><p>"Nadir did say that you regained the use of your hands," he said. "Does this mean you'll be no longer interested in singing, then?" He gestured to my ridiculous amount of art.</p><p>"I still want lessons," I answered quickly - the idea of not hearing him sing again was an absolutely terrible one.</p><p>He looked pleased. "Good." He cocked his head to the side. "So you are now able to draw. But you told me yesterday that you also enjoy fresh air."</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>He nodded. "I have a bit of a gift for you, then."</p><p>I raised my brows at him. "What kind of gift?"</p><p>Erik stepped toward me, a bit of slow trepidation in the movement. "Would you mind terribly if I carried you?"</p><p>Where was he taking me?</p><p>Outside?</p><p>It wasn't safe outside.</p><p>But I still answered, "No, I don't mind."</p><p>"And this time, fair maiden" he said, slyness on his tongue, "you can wrap your arms around Eric's neck."</p><p>"With a C."</p><p>"Now you're catching up."</p><p>He picked me up, and though I knew he'd been partly jesting when he said I could hug his neck, I did so anyway. It felt more natural this way. He tensed a bit at the contact, looked briefly at me, but didn't say anything about it.</p><p>He carried me through the quiet, darkening house, to a room at the end of the hallway. He asked me to reach my hand out and turn the doorknob. I smiled and obliged. He entered, and then brought the door closed behind him with his foot. This space seemed to be for storage, as boxes and old knick-knacks lined the edges of the floors and shelves on the walls. At the far end of the room was a staircase, leading up a door in the roof, similar to the stairs in the Echo Hall.</p><p>I didn't say anything as he brought me up the stairs and then asked me if I could, again, unlatch this door. I pulled the metal bolt, and Erik pushed the door open with his head and shoulders - needing to walk sideways and then backwards to make it work.</p><p>And the sight I was greeted to stole the breath from my very lungs.</p><p>We were on the roof, illuminated brightly by the full moon. A wall - as tall as Erik - surrounded the space. Lining the edges were potted palm trees; in the middle of the roof were chairs, tables, and beautiful shrubs and flowers in ceramic pots like the trees. Near the chairs were, laid out, two enticing-looking thick, colorful, patterned woolen blankets, spaced apart from one another about two arms' lengths. A bottle of white wine was in between the blankets, as were two glasses.</p><p>"We have two options," he said softly as I took in the roof. "We can sit in the chairs, or we can lie down."</p><p>"What are we doing?" I whispered.</p><p>He paused, and then whispered back, "Look up."</p><p>I did.</p><p>If I'd thought the roof was a lovely sight to see, it paled in comparison to the sky. In the ebony atmosphere above, thousands of stars glittered down at us, like tiny beacons of hope in the vast emptiness.</p><p>"Lie down," I breathed.</p><p>"Sorry?"</p><p>"I want to lie down to look at them."</p><p>He nodded slowly. He brought me to one of the blankets and set me down with extreme tenderness. He asked if I was comfortable, and I gave confirmation that I was, in fact, very much so.</p><p>"I brought wine," he said, the shrug not quite hiding his sheepishness. "You don't have to drink any, and I won't if you won't. But I thought, perhaps, it could be fun."</p><p>I stared at him in wonder. This was so...nice.</p><p>Romantic, even - though I doubted that was his intention.</p><p>I smiled at him. "That would be fun, yes."</p><p>He nodded again and went to the other blanket. Though there was a note of tenseness in his eyes, his hands remained smooth in their pouring of the wine into the glasses. He placed mine within reach of me, on the ground. I sat up, pushing myself up with my arms, and picked up the glass. I took a sip - and whatever it was, it was smooth and delicious going down my throat. At that, Erik followed my lead.</p><p>I leaned back on one elbow, the other hand holding the glass, as I looked up at the stars; the warm, breezy air swaying the leaves of the palm trees and the soft, chattering sounds of Tehran at night beyond.</p><p>"Christine?"</p><p>I looked at him; he was watching me with a frown on his face.</p><p>"Yes?" I responded.</p><p>"Before we continue the evening," he said softly, "I think I must remind you that I executed Amir tonight."</p><p>I looked away, shocked annoyance bubbling inside of me as I was taken out of my small reverie. To bring me up here, set this beautiful scene, and then remind me of-</p><p>But I understood why.</p><p>He'd said that he executed him tonight - meaning that it couldn't have been too long ago. He'd known Amir was my friend - rather, I'd considered him my friend before his attempt on my life. He likely felt like an impostor for being so kind; a killer, after all, wasn't kind. The guilt he must have been feeling was nearly palpable as I turned my attention back to his gaze.</p><p>"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked him.</p><p>He narrowed his eyes. "Do you want to know about it?"</p><p>At first, I was about to respond that, no, of course I didn't. That it was a morbid topic and I wanted to avoid it.</p><p>But something stopped me.</p><p>The part of me that asked and looked and dug for information.</p><p>Though it was likely better that I didn't indulge, I was curious. I wanted to know how my betrayer perished.</p><p>I would regret it.</p><p>"I'd like to," I said softly.</p><p>He looked into his wine for a while, so long that I felt guilt as well and nearly told him that it was fine, he didn't have to relive it through words, but he spoke before I got the chance.</p><p>"I did some research into him," he said, "before I killed him. I don't normally do this, but...given his association to you, I felt...well-" He sighed. "His mother was apparently half-French, which is why he knows so much of it; though I assume she either died or stopped teaching him as he speaks it brokenly. He became a eunuch when he was still a child, training to serve in harems for years before he trained the Shah's courtesans and then you." He looked at me. "Apparently - and this information was found out by the Echoes listening to him speak to other members of the Violet Dawn - he poisoned the tea by stopping the servant who brought the tray of food, telling her that you prefer a specific kind of sugar, and procuring that very sugar right then and there. He added it to the tea, and the servant didn't stop him. She, and the members he spoke to, are currently being held in prison as they await my punishment over the following days."</p><p>"Did she know?" I asked. "The servant?"</p><p>"No. It sounds like she didn't. Amir himself said she didn't."</p><p>"Then why-"</p><p>"Because she should have known better than to let another tamper with food," he said bitterly. "It's not her fault, no, but it was careless." He pursed his lips. "I'm not happy that I have to kill her, Christine." He brought the wine to his lips and drank.</p><p>"I know." I took a sip as well.</p><p>He put the glass on the floor again and sighed. "Amir died quickly. He was gone within seconds."</p><p>My heart hammered.</p><p>It was foolish to inquire.</p><p>But I wanted to know.</p><p>My curiosity was scratching at my lips to part and ask.</p><p>"How?" I whispered.</p><p>A long pause. Silence, except for the breeze and city sounds below.</p><p>"A card trick," he said finally.</p><p>I sat up fully. "A card trick?"</p><p>"Yes." He didn't look at me. "With him shackled, I performed for the Shah's mother, the Little Khanum - the Shah doesn't typically attend the executions, unless he has me perform for guests, as you saw with the taste-tester. I had her pull a card at random, knowing it would be a card I painted and placed in there, titled the Foe, picturing a bloodthirsty knight."</p><p>I listened intently, letting him pause as he took anther sip of wine.</p><p>"I put Amir into a tall wooden box with a door for several seconds; and when the Little Khanum pulled the card, I revealed I knew the card by opening the box. And inside was Amir, his throat slit and a word carved into his forehead - FAUX." Erik was barely breathing. "He was dead, of course."</p><p>I took a long drink of my wine.</p><p>And in the silence that followed, I finished my entire glass.</p><p>Erik asked me if I wanted any more, and I said yes.</p><p>We stayed silent, and over the next ten minutes or so, I finished that glass too.</p><p>This wasn't fun. Knowing wasn't fun. I shouldn't have asked.</p><p>I finished the second glass and asked for a third. Erik hesitated but poured the bottle.</p><p>I drank that glass as well. I predicted that it had only been a half an hour since I started drinking; and I wasn't a very large person at all.</p><p>The world had started to rock gently back and forth.</p><p>But it was nice. I was forgetting about what he told me.</p><p>I laid down and looked at the stars. After several seconds, he did so as well.</p><p>I loved the stars. I loved them so much. But it was my love of the outside world that landed me here in the first place.</p><p>"I was taken while out walking alone," I said - and was surprised to find my speech was slurred slightly. "I didn't see them coming."</p><p>Silence, and then: "I'm sorry, Christine."</p><p>"It's my fault." I closed my eyes. "I shouldn't have been outside."</p><p>"The cruelty of others isn't your fault," he responded immediately - definitively.</p><p>Another long silence.</p><p>"When I was a small child," he said softly then, "I used to have a recurring nightmare that I would be gazing up at the stars just like this, and one by one they would all wink out, until it was just endless darkness above me - so vast and empty that I thought I would fall upward into it and never land, just...continue on forever like that."</p><p>I opened my eyes to the sky above, to the blanket of glittering white dots - thankful that they were there and his dream was only in his mind.</p><p>"But," he said, "that dream no longer frightens me. In fact, I think it would be better that way. I like the idea of oblivion. The idea of nothing - no pain, no suffering... Nothing, forever."</p><p>I looked at him.</p><p>He had his arms crossed behind him, and I could see that he was looking upward. I wondered if he forgot that I was here - if he forgot he was saying those words aloud.</p><p>This was so unlike him.</p><p>But maybe it wasn't.</p><p>Because Erik was the night sky. Cold and dark, but if one looked - really stopped to observe - sparks of light could be found in the blackness, scattered at random yet constant.</p><p>And I wanted to say to him that I knew his killings weren't his idea, that I knew he would stop them if he could. That he wasn't a monster, or evil, or death incarnate. I wanted to tell him that his face wasn't a problem, that his appearance stopped bothering me the moment I saw his fear at that despicable dinner. I wanted to tell him that I could see past his occupation and his face, to his soul - a soul that genuinely cared about the happiness and well-being of blind child and a disabled concubine. I wanted to articulate that I felt safe with him, that his voice was a better indication of what was inside of him than what others could see.</p><p>I didn't say any of that - though it wasn't for a lack of trying.</p><p>The words were lost in translation on their way from my drunken brain to my thick tongue, and I proclaimed, "You aren't a killer, and I like your face."</p><p>At first, he didn't respond. Then, slowly, his head turned to me. He stared at me for several seconds, and I realized with a jolt that his rounded eyes appeared as though they were about to shed tears. He sat up, took the wine bottle, and shakily corked it.</p><p>His voice was hoarse and thick. "That's enough wine, I think."</p>
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<a name="section0017"><h2>17. The Nanny</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Disclaimer: Details of Erik's past have been changed from the original Kay material.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>When I was five years old, there were only two people in the world who even remotely cared about me.</p><p>My golden spaniel Sasha.</p><p>And my nanny Marie Perrault.</p><p>When my mother - by blood only - left the house to go for her daily walks through Saint-Martin-de-Boscherville, Marie brought me from my bedroom to the grand piano in the large house's parlor. She sat me down and taught me to play. And she would sing - teaching me to do that, too. She wasn't pretty. Not at all. But her voice was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard.</p><p>We were similar in that way. Neither appealing to the eye, but able to bring kingdoms down with only a song.</p><p>I learned quickly. I learned everything quickly. And I worked extra hard to be a good student for Marie - for anytime I played the piano or sung perfectly, she would smile at me and kiss me on the top of the head. It was my favorite part of the day - that single reward kiss.</p><p>It was also the only time of day when I wasn't required to wear my mask. Even in my room, my mother demanded that I wear it. But when she was out, Marie kept the mask on the surface of the piano - near enough to reach if we heard the front door open but far enough away that it was out of sight and mind.</p><p>Sasha sat right behind us, listening, wagging her tale and panting anytime either of us turned around to acknowledge and pet her.</p><p>When she taught me a new song, she always modeled it first - showing me where to place my hands and how to move them; how to move my throat and tongue as well to sing. I admired her while she made music. She was my mother's age - twenty-four - and had lost a baby while I was still in my mother's belly. My mother hired her to be a wet-nurse for me; and, when she saw me, my face of death, she was reminded of her own dead child. She agreed to nanny me when I'd outgrown milk.</p><p>My morbid appearance made her immediately attached to me. She said it was a sign that her own dead child was in Heaven - even naming me after him when my mother never bothered. Erik. It made me feel less guilty about looking the way I did.</p><p>Because, really, it was my fault my mother had no friends. It wasn't Marie who told me this, but my mother herself. She said often that if I had been born normal, she could be a socialite as she'd been before. Now she was forced to be a hermit, with only a low-bred nanny and a demon-child for company. I prayed sometimes that I'd wake up and look like a normal boy, but my prayers were never answered.</p><p>"Erik, it's your turn, love."</p><p>I turned to her, wide-eyed. I'd been too lost in thought.</p><p>I didn't know what to play.</p><p>Now I wouldn't get a kiss.</p><p>She smiled slightly. "Were you not paying attention?"</p><p>"I wasn't," I whispered. "I'm sorry."</p><p>"It's all right." Marie brought her arm around me and held me a bit closer. "Watch again."</p><p>And this time, I did pay attention. I wanted that kiss.</p><p>When she finished the song, I played it near-perfectly. Marie always marveled at that talent - the ability to see and hear a song played once and match it immediately, without needing it repeated. This hour made music the best part of my life.</p><p>My absolute favorite thing.</p><p>And I knew, even as a child, that if were to ever fall in love with a girl, it would happen through music.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>The hour always came to an end sooner than I wished it to.</p><p>My mother returned home, and with her arrival came the need to don my mask and go to my room with Marie.</p><p>She read with me for several hours more, teaching me how to write as well. She'd told me that she hadn't always been in a lower class - she'd once been well-off, but was disowned when she fell for a poor man. The man died the same way her baby did - illness; leaving her alone and in need of work. But she'd been left with ladylike skills - literacy and piano-playing. She said sometimes that she was blessed for it - that God made it so because now she was able to teach me these abilities. My mother would never have done it.</p><p>"Marie?" I stopped her in the middle of her reading.</p><p>"Yes, Erik?"</p><p>We were laying on her bed - she shared a room with me - and I was playing with one of the buttons on my sleep-clothes.</p><p>"I have a question," I said.</p><p>"What is it, love?"</p><p>I looked at her. "If my mother doesn't want us around, why doesn't she just leave?"</p><p>She closed the book, placed it on the nightstand, and put an arm around me. "Because this is her house. It became her house when your father died."</p><p>"He died before I was born," I said, almost on instinct. My mother repeated the story so many times - how my growth in her stomach caused my father to die. That I was that much of a curse.</p><p>"Yes." Marie put her warm hand on my thin arm. "He did."</p><p>"Well, then..." I pondered. "Why doesn't she want us to leave?"</p><p>Because Marie had suggested that before - that she take me to live somewhere else. But my mother refused - always refused. She claimed that she'd have Marie arrested for kidnapping if she tried to leave her behind with no one.</p><p>"Because she's lonely," Marie whispered. "She says she doesn't want us here, but if we left, she would be sad."</p><p>I continued playing with the button, looking at my too-long fingers as I did. "But she's sad now too."</p><p>There was a pause, the only sound Sasha softly snoring on the rug below. Then, a whisper from Marie: "Are you sad, Erik?"</p><p>I had to think about it. "Only when you're not here."</p><p>"I only ever leave to go shopping."</p><p>"And that's when I'm sad."</p><p>Her arm tightened around me a bit, and I moved my head closer to rest against her shoulder.</p><p>After a time, she reached past me and to a small compact mirror on the bedside table. I knew what was about to happen and groaned in protest.</p><p>"We have to, Erik." She kissed my temple. "Every night, baby."</p><p>I gave one single kick into the air, bringing my foot down forcefully. "But I hate it!"</p><p>"I know, and that's why we need to." She brought the mask off of my face, opened the compact mirror, and held it so that I could see my own reflection. I cringed and closed my eyes.</p><p>"No..." I moaned.</p><p>A harsh knock on the door, and then my mother's voice: "Quiet!"</p><p>"Yes, Madame." We were both silent as her footsteps disappeared down the hall. Marie sighed. "Erik," she chided gently. "Love, you were doing so well with this. What happened?"</p><p>I shook my head.</p><p>"Was it your mother?" she asked softly.</p><p>I nodded.</p><p>"Did she say something to you?"</p><p>I nodded again.</p><p>Her voice took on an edge. "What did she say?"</p><p>"She said I look like the Devil," I whispered. "And that she hates my face more than anything."</p><p>Marie sighed harshly. She gave me an extra-long kiss against my hair, giving me the will to open my eyes again. I avoided the mirror.</p><p>"Erik," she said, "please look at your reflection."</p><p>I didn't want to disobey her, so I obliged. I felt sick at the sight.</p><p>"Say what we always say."</p><p>"I can't," I breathed. Because the words weren't true. They were a lie.</p><p>"Then repeat the words after me." She turned her head so that her mouth was near my ear and whispered, "I am good."</p><p>"I am good," I said. A lie.</p><p>"I am handsome."</p><p>I shook my head.</p><p>"Erik."</p><p>"Iamhandsome," I said quickly, smashing the words together so that they came out like a bandage being ripped off of tender flesh.</p><p>"I deserve to be loved," she finished.</p><p>I swallowed. A lie. A lie. A lie. "I deserve to be loved."</p>
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<a name="section0018"><h2>18. The Invitation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>Erik picked me up from the blanket, my head spinning at the movement. I again wrapped my arms around his neck. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the way the world ebbed and flowed around me as I was carried from room to room, until I was at last set down on a bed. My bed. Rather, my bed in Nadir's house.</p><p>My bed was in Erik's chambers.</p><p>Wait.</p><p>No.</p><p>I lived in Nadir's house now.</p><p>My chest felt suddenly tight. I wanted to go back to Erik's chambers. I knew Erik. I didn't really know Nadir. I liked Mitra, but I couldn't talk to her. Reza was adorable, but wasn't able to hold an adult conversation.</p><p>"Are you going to the room?" I slurred at Erik.</p><p>"We're already here, Christine," he answered softly. "We're in your room."</p><p>"No," I said, tongue too slow in my mouth, "are you going to the room?"</p><p>His eyes narrowed. "I don't entirely-"</p><p>I exhaled sharply in frustration. "Your room."</p><p>A spark of understanding lit his eyes. "Ah. Yes. I am going back to my chambers."</p><p>"Why?" I asked a bit too loudly, stitching my brows.</p><p>He looked down. "I need to be rested for tomorrow. There's another execution, and I need to think clearly."</p><p>"You can stay," I suggested in a moment of brilliance. "You can stay." I moved toward the window, making more room for him on the bed next to me. I patted the space. "It's...big enough."</p><p>He stared at me, expressionless. "No."</p><p>"Why?" I near-yelled again.</p><p>"Because you're drunk." He lifted his chin, set his shoulders back. "And that's not really what you want."</p><p>Tears sprang to my eyes in sudden bitterness. "Yes."</p><p>"No, Christine." He paused. "I will go and get you some water and then I must leave."</p><p>"You..." I said, and tried sitting up, but my head was far too light to stay steady. "You don't tell me how I am."</p><p>He didn't say anything. He only watched me.</p><p>"I'm a person," I said slowly, as succinctly as I could (which wasn't very). "I know what I want. You can't tell me...what I want. I know me. Don't tell me how I am." The tears I'd forgotten about fell down my cheeks, and I wiped them away. "I'm a person."</p><p>"I know you are."</p><p>"I'm a person," I repeated in a whisper. "Not a Flower." I closed my eyes. "I don't want to be a Flower. I want to be a person."</p><p>When I opened my eyes next, he was gone.</p><p>And when I opened them again, I found a glass of water on the nightstand.<br/>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>I awoke with a terrible headache, made worse by my refusal to think about what I'd said to Erik the night before. I remembered my words clearly. I hoped he didn't.</p><p>Drinking the water helped a bit, as did eating breakfast, but the remainder of the day left me with a slight throb in my skull.</p><p>Drawing dulled the ache. It was while I drew that Erik arrived at my bedroom door. As usual, he didn't bother knocking before he entered.</p><p>"Good morning, my dear," he said, a glint in his eye. Gone was the melancholy man I'd seen last night. I think I was grateful for it. If he wanted to forget about last night, then so did I. He sat on my bed and tilted his head to the side. "Let me guess: the pain in your head is absolutely wrecking your morning."</p><p>"How could you tell?" I asked.</p><p>"I watched you drink far more than you should." He shrugged with with an expression of you-did-this-to-yourself-I-only-poured-the-wine-but-you-asked-for-each-glass-honestly-Christine. "Also, you look absolutely miserable."</p><p>"Thank you," I grumbled, turning down to my drawing.</p><p>He paused. "You know," he said, "if you hold your thumbs to the roof of your mouth and pull your bottom eyelids down with your forefingers, it will help relieve some of the ache."</p><p>I looked back up at him. "Really?"</p><p>He nodded, a hint of a smile on his lips.</p><p>I did as he suggested, placing my fingers exactly where he'd said. It was only when his lips twitched and his eyes flashed that I snatched my hands away from my eyes and mouth. I glared at him. "You made that up, didn't you?"</p><p>"Of course I did." Now he was smiling widely. "But it was so worth seeing you make that face." He stood. "Now, are you ready for lessons? I figured we could have them in my chambers this time so that we can utilize the piano."</p><p>I agreed to the lessons, deciding that he was only poking fun to ease some tension. He lifted and carried me through the house and into the study, where Mitra lifted the hidden door for us to pass through.</p><p>The walk was silent. I didn't know what he was thinking about, but I couldn't stop recalling my drunkenness last night - my invitation for him to share my bed and then my emotional state when he'd refused.</p><p>If I held any tiny shredded sliver of doubt about it up until now, that sliver was now obliterated - he definitely had no intention of taking advantage of me. He'd had far too many chances and hadn't taken any of them.</p><p>As we drew closer to his chambers, a sudden booming sounded around us. He tensed, stopping in his tracks for a moment, before continuing; but now, it was with a slightly faster, more urgent gait.</p><p>"What was that?" I asked.</p><p>"Thunder, I believe," he said softly, strenuously. "I hate thunderstorms."</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"I just do."</p><p>He opened the door at the end of the hall to his bedroom, where Ayesha was curled and asleep on his pillows; indeed, sheet raining was pouring from the sky, and a flash of lightning brightened the room momentarily. It was followed immediately by another boom, prompting Erik to again tense.</p><p>"It wasn't raining like this at Nadir's house," I said, watching the window. "It can't be that far from the palace, can it?"</p><p>"It's not," he replied, pushing the bookshelf-door behind him with his foot, "but the weather can be quite changeable in Persia." He glanced down at me shortly. "Speaking of Nadir's house, do you find it safer?"</p><p>"Than..." But I knew what he meant.</p><p>"Here." He looked away. "Do you find it safer there than here?"</p><p>"I...it's more secure, I think." I wanted to add that, despite that, I'd realized last night that I missed it here because he was here, but a nervous ball in my throat stopped the words.</p><p>His demeanor fell in disappointment at my answer.</p><p>I wanted to lighten the mood, so I scrambled to think of something he'd find interesting to discuss. "Where did you learn to play music and sing, anyway?"</p><p>"A saint of a woman taught me as a child."</p><p>His words were somber, not light. "Your mother?"</p><p>He snorted. "My mother would have let me rot in my bedroom."</p><p>My blood chilled; I dropped it.</p><p>We finally went through his bedroom door to the parlor, only to find Nadir sitting on the couch that faced us. His hands were folded in his lap, and his head tilted upward a bit at the sight of Erik carrying me.</p><p>"Daroga!" greeted Erik. "What an unwelcome surprise!" He brought me to the couch opposite the one Nadir sat in and set me down. I adjusted myself so that I was sitting upright, moving my legs with my hands so that my feet were planted on the floor. Oh, this felt nice after so long.</p><p>"Erik," said Nadir. He looked at me. "Christine."</p><p>"So," drawled Erik, taking a seat next to me and putting his feet on the coffee table, "to what do I owe the displeasure?"</p><p>Although playfully irked, he didn't seem too shocked to find the Daroga in his parlor. Perhaps Nadir had a key - he did say that this used to be his chambers.</p><p>"I have come to pass on the Shah's invitation to a party in three weeks' time," Nadir responded, and smiled very lightly before continuing, "put together and hosted by Ibrahim, of course."</p><p>"So it's an invitation, then?"</p><p>Nadir's brow furrowed. "No, you know that-"</p><p>"Because if it's an invitation, this time, I would rather not attend."</p><p>"Erik, as usual, you are expected to be there."</p><p>He crossed his arms. "And Christine? Is she expected to be there as well?" He mimicked Nadir's voice so shockingly well that I smiled.</p><p>"No," he said, "this time, she is not. She is welcome to attend, if she'd like, but the Shah has no use for her there. He's seen her once, and that was good enough for him."</p><p>"Well, that's a small relief, at least," said Erik. "Anyway, I still don't want to go."</p><p>"Of course you don't," answered Nadir, "and you could certainly refuse."</p><p>This peaked Erik's interest. "Really?"</p><p>"Of course." The Daroga raised an eyebrow. "And, in doing so, you will insult the Shah, be put into filthy solitary confinement for a month, and emerge smelling of excrement and holding conversations with inanimate objects."</p><p>"Hell, I do that already." Erik smiled. "Not the smelling bit, of course, but I find coffee cups to be quite the talkers." He shifted his attention to the cup that sat on the table, likely still there from this morning when he'd had his coffee. "Isn't that right, Monsieur?"</p><p>Nadir rolled his eyes.</p><p>"Yes, I know," continued Erik to the cup, "it really is preposterous; I agree. He comes into my chambers unannounced and has the gall to lecture at me about-"</p><p>"On top of that," continued Nadir lowly, "I wanted to ensure that you're continuing to work."</p><p>The silence in the room then could only be cut with the sharpest of knives, broken only by the sound of rain.</p><p>"Excuse me?" said Erik, voice just as low.</p><p>Nadir glanced at me shortly, and turned his gaze back to him. "There is an execution tonight."</p><p>"Yes," Erik said, enunciating each syllable, "I am very aware of that fact."</p><p>"And are you prepared for it?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"And what about our plans for the Shah? For the Khanum? How much of that have you given thought to this past week?"</p><p>Erik looked down at the cup with bitterness in his eyes. "I miss our conversation."</p><p>"Erik."</p><p>He stood then, hands clenched at his side, eyes spitting venom. "I don't think that's your business."</p><p>Nadir stood as well, though he appeared surprisingly relaxed. "I think it very much is."</p><p>I wished my legs could work - I wanted nothing more than to slink into the study to my former bed.</p><p>"No," growled Erik, "your business is catching rioters and criminals. You are not my puppet-master. No one is."</p><p>"And I'm not puppeteering you," he responded slowly, "I'm simply asking you a question."</p><p>"The question, friend, implies a certain level of ownership over my actions, does it not?"</p><p>Nadir glanced at me again, and cleared his throat. This time, his voice took on a slight stutter. "I-I must say that I think these...these lessons are bit distracting for you. I think if you ceased them and focused on the task at hand-"</p><p>"And I think that it is stupid of you to focus so hard on catching every person who tries to assassinate the Shah." Erik was breathing hard. "I know you want his death to be painful. I know you want revenge. But for the love of God - the Shah could be dead twenty times over by now."</p><p>Nadir's face was blank, watching him wordlessly.</p><p>"Instead...instead you force me into these countless executions, expect me to spend what free time I do have on this passion project of yours..." Erik looked at the floor. "I will work on it. I will get it done. But leave me be for an hour a day. Give me an hour a day to focus on music. That's all I ask."</p><p>Nadir stared at Erik for a long time. I stared at him too. I had no idea what project they were talking about - I had no idea what the specific plans were for the Shah or the Shah's mother - but whatever they were, it was causing him pain.</p><p>And in that time, I felt that Nadir was profoundly selfish. Selfish for putting his own desire for revenge over Erik's emotional well-being. If what they said was true, he was just as much to blame for Erik's murders as the Shah and Khanum.</p><p>At last, the Daroga muttered, "One hour a day." He turned and left Erik's chambers, slamming the door behind him. Lightning struck the moment he left.</p><p>Thunder rumbled outside the window.</p>
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<a name="section0019"><h2>19. The Hellhound</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Trigger Warning: Graphic violence against animals (seriously, if you're not comfortable with violent animal deaths, message me or comment and I will be happy to just recap this chapter for you).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>I used to find the rain and thunder relaxing. Fascinating. Marie would pick out a dark fairy-tale and read it to me, as I cuddled against her, and the booming sound outside became a sign of closeness and love.</p><p>When I was eight years old, thunder became a signal for horror and loss.</p><p>The entire village of Saint-Martin-de-Boscherville knew my face. They'd never seen it, but the midwife who delivered me spread the tale far and wide, believing me to be the spawn of Satan. The tales started true - no nose, discolored skin, misshapen lips, and sunken features. But they began to become fanciful:</p><p>I had glowing red eyes.</p><p>I sprouted wings at night.</p><p>I would go onto people's farms and bite the heads off of chickens.</p><p>My mother relayed this information to me, of course - letting me know just how hated I truly was. Sometimes she heard these rumors in whispers when she walked by. Sometimes they arrived in the form of harassing letters - that was how we learned of the headless chickens.</p><p>In hindsight, I was surprised that she was never attacked on her walks. That Marie wasn't turned away from buying groceries. That our house was never burned to the ground with all of us trapped inside. The only explanation I could think of was the element of doubt that the rumors were not true - or perhaps that the village enjoyed the rumors so much amidst the remainder of their slow lives that they didn't want to put an end to the source of the fun. The rumors, though chilling, were surely entertaining.</p><p>Because that's all they were.</p><p>Rumors.</p><p>My eyes, of course, were not glowing or red, but green and brown. My green eye was my mother's, as was my black hair. I suspected that if I hadn't been born with the face I did, I would have had hers - a beautiful visage.</p><p>I was sure that I inherited my brown eye from my father - but she would never speak about him to me (except to blame me for his death) so I would never know. All I knew was that he was good-looking - that, my mother did say: he'd been her handsome prince.</p><p>What a shame that I, a monster, came from such beautiful parents. That the beautiful house they'd once shared together was now the Village House of Horrors.</p><p>If I could have sprouted wings, I would have used them to carry myself and Marie far away from that blasted house, but the truth was that I was never allowed out of the house - I certainly never had the chance to chew on chicken heads. I pity whatever poor farmer was losing his animals to a bird-decapitator, but I dare say that it wasn't me.</p><p>But facts matter little when fiction spreads like wildfire.</p><p>It was because of the rumors that, despite my mother's wealth, our only servant was Marie. She cooked, cleaned, and cared for me. As it was only the three of us, it was thankfully not a daunting job - and, as I wanted to spend as much time with her as I could, I helped whenever I was able.</p><p>Marie took Sasha to the backyard three times a day - morning, afternoon, and evening. But now it was dinnertime, and I'd been training Sasha to roll over on command, giving her cheese as a treat whenever she got it right.</p><p>The cheese was not agreeing with her.</p><p>Marie was cooking in the kitchen, and Sasha was whining and scratching at the backdoor, looking at me as I watched her, and barking periodically, insisting that she really did need to relieve herself please, knowing she'd be in trouble if she did so in the house.</p><p>I hated the feeling of being in trouble. I knew what it was like to fear the anger of others.</p><p>Sasha let out a particularly loud, desperate bark.</p><p>"For God's sake!" called my mother from the parlor, where she was reading a novel. "Would somebody please let the dog outside?"</p><p>Marie called back from the kitchen, "I will as soon as dinner is ready, Madame!"</p><p>I wasn't supposed to touch any of the doors that led to the outer world. I wasn't supposed to. But I didn't want Sasha to be in trouble. And I knew I'd be in trouble, too, for giving her food that led to the mess.</p><p>Quickly, I opened the door for Sasha, and when she'd run outside, I closed it just as hastily, heart hammering. There was a very light drizzle, and the November air was cold, but she didn't seem to care as I peeked out the window to see her squatting. Marie usually took her outside for twenty minutes. So I would call her back in that time.</p><p>"Erik?" called Marie.</p><p>"Yes?" I responded, still looking out the window.</p><p>"Where is my little helper?"</p><p>"I'm coming." I left my post at the window and went into the kitchen. She handed me silverware and tasked me with setting the table. I did so quietly, continuously looking at both the grandfather clock and the direction of the backdoor. I went back to the kitchen a few more times and collected a teapot, cups, and linen cloths. I brought those to the dining room as well.</p><p>Twenty minutes wasn't yet up, but the rain was coming down harder now. This had been long enough for Sasha to complete her business. I hurried to the backdoor and opened it.</p><p>She wasn't there.</p><p>And I wasn't supposed to be here in the doorway.</p><p>"Sasha?" I called softly.</p><p>Only the rain answered me.</p><p>My ears buzzed with sudden panic. My heart picked up again. I couldn't go outside. But where was she?</p><p>I closed the door and went to Marie, who was spooning stew into bowls and humming to herself.</p><p>"Marie?" I said, voice small.</p><p>She looked at me, saw the fear in my eyes, and frowned. "What is it, love?"</p><p>"Sasha," I whispered, and the moment I did, my breathing came in and out quickly against my will. I gripped the door frame as tears threatened to escape.</p><p>Marie put the spoon back into the pot and went to me. She didn't have to kneel to put her eyes at the level of mine - I had grown tall for my age. She only crouched a bit and put her hands on my masked cheeks. "What happened, baby?"</p><p>"I - let her - outside," I said between breaths. The tears fell. I was becoming dizzy. "And I - can't - find her."</p><p>Her eyes scanned mine. She wasn't angry. "You opened the door?"</p><p>I nodded.</p><p>Concern lined her features. "You know you're not supposed to."</p><p>Oh no.</p><p>She was disappointed.</p><p>Marie was disappointed in me.</p><p>Maybe she wouldn't kiss me tonight before bed.</p><p>Maybe I'd never be kissed again.</p><p>I sobbed.</p><p>She took me into her arms immediately, shushing me, running her fingers through my hair. I hugged her back. "I'm sorry," I cried quietly.</p><p>Lightning flashed in the windows. Thunder rumbled overhead. The rain pattered against the window harshly.</p><p>I pulled away with a gasp. "I have - to go - find her," I said urgently, still hiccuping.</p><p>Marie looked at me sadly. "Erik, it's a downpour."</p><p>"She'll - get wet." I swallowed, reaching under my mask to clear the saltwater that was running underneath it. "She could - get sick. I have - to go - and-"</p><p>"You're not supposed to go outside, Erik." She looked in the direction of the backdoor. "I will go and find her after dinner. It might stop raining by then. If she's not in the backyard, then she might be hiding somewhere dry."</p><p>I looked the kitchen window. The raining really was coming down hard. There was no possible way it would let up in an hour.</p><p>But I had no choice other than to listen to her. I didn't want to disappoint her again.</p><p>She informed my mother that dinner was ready, and she had me set out the bowls of stew onto the table. My mother didn't pull her eyes away from the book she was reading as she sat down - as usual, she ignored us completely and instead spent time with the precious, perfect characters in her stories. Normally, too, Marie and I ate fairly silently, only smiling at one another every so often to acknowledge that we saw the other there and that, despite the lack of conversation, this was time spent together.</p><p>Today, I only stared at my bowl. There was no chance of me eating anything. So I nibbled and sipped at the stew - just to keep the appearance that I was consuming my meal. All I could think about was Sasha, alone and cold and wet out in the storm.</p><p>Another rumble of thunder sounded overhead and I flinched. I looked up at Marie to see her smiling comfortingly at me. I forced a small smile back and took another bite of dinner.</p><p>It was when my mother finished her food and went back to the parlor without a word that Marie got up. I was up as well, fast as the lightning outside. She asked me to clear the table, telling me she would bring an umbrella and take a quick walk around the house - but if she didn't see Sasha now, it was safer to continue the search after the storm passed.</p><p>I nodded silently, picking up bowls and silverware. Mine was still near-full. I brought them to the kitchen, and was in the middle of cleaning them, when I heard the front door open, the sound of the rain increasing in volume, and then Marie let out a shriek.</p><p>I left the dishes behind and ran for the foyer, alarm making my feet fly.</p><p>"What's going on?" called my mother, though she didn't bother coming to check.</p><p>When I reached Marie, she'd already closed the front door. She looked at me with wide hazel eyes, running a hand in shock through her red hair. "Erik," she whispered, "go to your room."</p><p>"What is it?" I demanded. "What's wrong? Is it Sasha?"</p><p>"Erik. Please."</p><p>"Did you find her?"</p><p>Her face was white. "Yes." Her face contorted. "Erik, go to your room. I will come up in a bit."</p><p>I didn't listen. Something was wrong. "What's going on? What happened to Sasha?"</p><p>Her eyes closed and she placed a hand on the wall. She appeared as though she were about to faint. "Erik," she begged, "please go to your room."</p><p>The panic set in again.</p><p>Something was very wrong.</p><p>Before she could stop me, before I could think about how my actions could cost me her affection, I pushed past her and opened the door. I looked into the front yard.</p><p>I saw it immediately.</p><p>My blood stopped in my veins, but the sight of it brought me closer like a moth to a flame. Going toward it would surely kill me - but I couldn't stop moving. I couldn't help it. I was cold - not just because of the torrential rain and freezing temperature.</p><p>And I did die when I went to it. Something in me broke.</p><p>It was the beginning of the end of my innocence.</p><p>Tied around a branch of the large oak tree was a rope.</p><p>Hanging at the end of the rope was a noose.</p><p>In the noose was Sasha's broken neck.</p><p>And on the trunk of the tree, illuminated by the lightning that struck, was carved the phrase:</p><p>LE CHIEN DE L'ENFER</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. The Curse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>Thunder rumbled overhead.</p><p>Erik tensed again, still standing. He was watching the door through which Nadir had just left with deeply exhausted eyes.</p><p>A bolt of lightning struck directly outside the window, and the air cracked open with a monstrous noise.</p><p>Whatever memory that sight, that sound, unlocked in Erik, it was clearly too much. The relentlessness of the storm, combined with the tense encounter with Nadir, was simply too much. He gasped, lowering himself, bringing his long arm behind him and gripping the back of the couch with a trembling hand. His eyes were wide and full of terror as he stared at nothing. His lower lip was thin and white. He brought his other hand to rest over his chest. His breathing became rapid and uneven</p><p>So Erik was frightened of two things.</p><p>Mirrors.</p><p>Lightning and thunder.</p><p>Such...childlike fears.</p><p>'Oh, don't look so troubled Christine,' he'd said to me. 'That's not the only traumatic event that's befallen me. I haven't even gotten to the good parts.'</p><p>My heartstrings were pulled toward him, and I decided that if I was going to be a friend to him, I would be a friend.</p><p>I brought my own hand to rest on his arm. His eyes whipped to my fingers, and then to me. There was visible surprise mixed in with the fear.</p><p>"Can I have your hand?" I asked softly.</p><p>"Why?" he asked immediately.</p><p>I smiled and pulled my hand away, making it face palm-up in front of him. "Just trust me."</p><p>Steadily, he brought his fingers from their death-grip on the couch and put them in mine. They were trembling still, and were ridiculously long in my own small hand, but I didn't pay any mind to that fact. I looked up at him. He was watching me warily, curiously. He was taken off guard, but was going along for the ride anyway.</p><p>"All right," I whispered, and cleared my throat. "What are five things you can see?"</p><p>His eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"</p><p>I flushed. "I used to be...I used to be scared of thunder, too," I said, "and my father would do this with me when I was frightened of the sound. Trust me. It works."</p><p>His gaze softened, though the rest of him remained stiff. "Oh. No. I'm all right. It's all-"</p><p>"Erik," I cut him off. "Just...five things. Five things you can see."</p><p>He looked at me for a moment, and then looked away any nodded. "Fine, then." He looked around the room, his hand still in mine. "The piano. The couch. The door to the study. The rug. The chandelier."</p><p>I smiled. "Good. Three things you can feel."</p><p>"My clothes. The warm temperature of the room." He was starting to visibly relax. He paused, looking at where our fingers met. "Your hand."</p><p>My flush deepened. I noticed that his fingers weren't shaking anymore. "And now tell me one good thing that happened today."</p><p>His eyes lifted to mine. "I was able to see you."</p><p>I was sure that I was as scarlet as the furniture we sat on.</p><p>He pulled his hand away quickly, blinking. "I only mean...I do enjoy music, and seeing you means..."</p><p>"I enjoy your company, too," I whispered.</p><p>He widened his eyes again and stood. "We should start. Music. The lesson. We should start."</p><p>"Wait."</p><p>But he didn't. He walked to the piano. Thunder rumbled, but this time, he didn't seem to flinch.</p><p>"Wait, Erik."</p><p>"We only have an hour, Christine; we really should start."</p><p>"But can we talk for a moment?"</p><p>"No. Let's start."</p><p>"But I want to talk."</p><p>"And I want to start."</p><p>"Erik," I insisted, "it will only take a few minutes. I want to talk-"</p><p>He turned to me then, eyes hard. "About what, exactly?" he asked sharply. "What is so dire that you need to talk about?"</p><p>I cringed, feeling my shoulders pull forward. "I just...we're friends, right?"</p><p>"Right."</p><p>"Well..." I searched for the words. "I liked...what just happened, and I didn't really want it to stop."</p><p>His masked face was cold. "And what, pray tell, just happened?"</p><p>"We...I don't know..." I bit my lip. "It seemed like...like maybe we were becoming closer...or-"</p><p>"I think we are close enough," he said, and backed up a half-step. "I really do."</p><p>I stared at him, feeling a chill. "Did I say something wrong?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Then...why are you being like this?"</p><p>"Like what?"</p><p>"Like you don't...want me here." I swallowed. "Are you only...using me for music? Am I, Christine, getting in the way of my voice?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Then did you only offer me friendship out of pity?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>"I mean, you offered me friendship. You brought me to the roof to look at the stars. I thought you wanted to get to know me. I thought maybe...you cared about me."</p><p>"I do." He said it so flatly, so emotionlessly, that I wasn't sure whether to believe it completely or not at all.</p><p>"Because...I do consider you a friend." I gripped the couch cushion. "I do care about you, too."</p><p>He paused and looked down. "Don't."</p><p>"I'm sorry?"</p><p>"You can consider me a friend," he said softly. "But do not care about me."</p><p>I let out a humorless laugh, and his eyes shot to mine at the sound. "Erik," I said, "they go hand in hand."</p><p>He looked so incredibly bitter. He turned away, sat at the piano, and simply stared down at the keys.</p><p>"Why," I said, "don't you want me to care about you?"</p><p>There was a long silence. He didn't move. It was though he'd calcified.</p><p>"Erik."</p><p>"I heard your question," he responded quietly. "The trouble is, Christine, that though it would be lovely to have you care about me, about what happens to me, about my well-being, emotions, and thoughts, I would rather you didn't, because I care about you. And I deeply, deeply regret showing you my face when you first arrived at my door."</p><p>"But it doesn't matter to me what your face looks like," I said. 'Not anymore,' I almost added, but thought better of it.</p><p>"And that's the problem." He remained staring down at the keys. Lightning struck somewhere far away, thunder growled low in the distance, and the rain continued to slaughter the window. "Everyone who has ever looked on my bare face and dared to care about me has died - and died at my hands, one way or another."</p><p>My stomach dropped. "What do you mean?"</p><p>"I don't try to kill them," he whispered, "but they always die. And always because of me."</p><p>"Oh..." I frowned. "Erik, no, I'm sure that's not true."</p><p>"It is." He exhaled, finally turning to me, shifting all the way around on the bench, and there was deep anguish lining his gaze. "But I will keep you safe from that. You will live at Nadir's house, visiting me only for lessons, and he will make sure you are hidden from anyone who may seek to harm you. And, God-willing, we will soon hear from your father, and you will be gone, never to see me again."</p><p>"I will miss you," I said immediately. I wanted to see my father, so very badly, but I would miss Erik.</p><p>The anguish in his expression deepened. "No you won't. You'll forget me, easily. I will be a shadow of a memory in your mind - and, like a shadow, the light of a new day will make me fade."</p><p>I looked down for a time. I didn't like that concept: forgetting Erik. I liked him. I really did. He'd been my lifeline during and after the murderous dinner, when I'd been locked in my own body, when I'd discovered Amir's betrayal. Surely he didn't think I'd cast the thought of him away if and when I was safe with my father once more.</p><p>"Erik," I said, "I need a friend." I met his stare. "And not just a shallow friendship. Not the friendship you initially intended to offer me. I need an actual friend. Not just someone to talk to, but someone I can care about and who cares about me."</p><p>He didn't look away from me. "I do not want to be responsible for your death."</p><p>"And I'm the one who's insisting - so if I die, it will be at my own hands."</p><p>He considered my words. Actually considered them. Perhaps that was all it took - the knowledge that his hands would be clean whatever the consequences were. "Do you...need this?"</p><p>"I need you." I remembered how he'd told me that I didn't need him, the first night he'd left me at Nadir's house. And maybe I didn't need him, per se, but I certainly wanted his company. His actual company. And there was something about reclaiming what I did and didn't need that was empowering.</p><p>He wanted to tell me I didn't need him. So I wanted to tell him that I did.</p><p>His eyes were intense, fearful once more. "I want to feel cared for again."</p><p>Again.</p><p>Implying he wasn't cared for right now.</p><p>How long since he'd been cared for at all?</p><p>Reza cared about him. But Reza also couldn't see his face - and Erik talked about his face as though it were cursed. That if human eyes rested their gaze upon it and the person attached to those eyes saw him instead, a terrible fate would befall them.</p><p>Maybe that was why he was so relaxed around Reza - the little boy was immune to that curse.</p><p>I smiled kindly. "Then let me do that. Let me care about you."</p><p>A pause. "I'm selfish for saying yes," he whispered.</p><p>"No, you're not."</p><p>"Yes, I am." He closed his eyes. "But I'm saying yes, anyway."</p>
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<a name="section0021"><h2>21. The Nightmares</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>I let out a scream of anguish and rage, but it was drowned out by the thunder that followed the lightning.</p><p>Sasha!</p><p>They killed Sasha!</p><p>The relentless rain was freezing me to my core, but I didn't care. I went to my friend as she hung limply, swinging from her necklace of rope in the storm. It was a low branch, just tall enough for a grown person to reach. I wrapped my arms around her soaking furry body and tried to pull her down, but she didn't budge. In fact, I think the noose was only becoming tighter.</p><p>I sobbed.</p><p>"Erik!" cried Marie from the doorway. "Please! Come inside!"</p><p>"No!" I yelled, still hugging Sasha's body. My mask was now wet both inside and outside.</p><p>"Erik!"</p><p>"No!" I tried tugging again, hoping that, by chance, the rope would break or her head would slip from the noose. It only seemed to tighten again.</p><p>Lightning flashed close by, and the roar that followed intensified my hold on her. I wouldn't leave her alone like this. Leaving her alone outside was what led to this nightmare. I had to put her somewhere safe.</p><p>I had to bury her.</p><p>I had to give her a proper burial.</p><p>I tugged on her frantically. I tried pulling on the rope around her neck, but it wouldn't move, either. I reached above her head, to the stretch of rope itself, pulling on that as well, hoping perhaps the branch would break.</p><p>A hand went to my shoulder, and I spun with a gasp. Marie watched me with deep misery in her eyes, holding an umbrella over her.</p><p>"Erik," she said, "we need to wait for the storm to pass."</p><p>I shook my head. "No."</p><p>"Yes, love."</p><p>"No!" More tears slipped below my mask. "This is my fault. I have to get her down."</p><p>Her features contorted. "This isn't your fault. You didn't do this."</p><p>I shook my head again. She didn't understand. This was my fault. Everything bad that happened to our house was my fault. My mother's wrath was my fault. The town's fear was my fault.</p><p>I had to fix it.</p><p>"I need to get her down," I sobbed. "Please, Marie. I need to get her down now."</p><p>"And we will," she went for my hand. I spun away and wrapped my arms around Sasha's body again. I was shaking, from cold and from horror.</p><p>"I won't go inside," I moaned. "Not until she's buried."</p><p>Marie tried to pull me away from Sasha, but I wouldn't let go. She begged me to come with her, but I refused. I wouldn't leave her side, not until she was in the ground.</p><p>At last, Marie let go. I'd thought, for a moment, that she'd given up and gone inside, but then the umbrella fell, closed, and she went around to the other side of Sasha.</p><p>"Lift her up as much as you can," she said.</p><p>I did, hoisting her up with my arms. Marie went to the noose and slackened it with both hands, and then pushed Sasha's head through. Gently, I lowered her to grass.</p><p>I went on my knees and immediately began to dig into the cold, hard earth with my fingers.</p><p>"Erik," she said, shock in her voice, "not with your hands."</p><p>"I need to bury her!"</p><p>This time she did leave. That was fine. I didn't care. I would put my friend to her final resting place and no one would stop me.</p><p>But she returned soon enough with a shovel. At first, she started to dig the spot herself, but I hastily stood and took the shovel from her. I dug like my life depended on it. Because it did. Every second Sasha was lying broken in the rain was a second that a piece of me was withering away.</p><p>So Marie picked up the umbrella and hung it over me, letting herself be drenched as I dug a grave - a grave that should have been mine.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>It took nearly half an hour for the burial to be finished.</p><p>And when it was, I dropped the shovel, went to the ground, and wailed. Marie only continued holding the umbrella over me. It was when I opened my eyes to see her shivering, cold, and wet, that I made myself get up and let her lead me inside.</p><p>She immediately made me take a bath and then put me to bed.</p><p>She didn't bother with a bath at all, simply changing into nightclothes and getting into the bed with me. She wrapped her arms around me and sung to me as I cried myself into a fitful sleep.</p><p>And for the next week, my dreams were filled with nightmares. She slept right next to me through all of them. I wasn't able to eat, but she didn't mention my lack of appetite. Hers was just as small. My mother cried for Sasha - she'd loved the dog, too - but avoided looking at me or Marie. No doubt she blamed me for it. I blamed myself for it too.</p><p>Marie tried her hardest to keep a semblance of normalcy, for my benefit. She smiled when she could, continuing to read me stories, even if my eyes were glazed over while she read. But I noticed the haunted look in her eyes, the one that no doubt resembled mine.</p><p>The act of normalcy couldn't be kept up for long.</p><p>One night, as she held me close to her while I pretended to sleep, not wanting to drift off for fear of another nightmare filled with dead dogs and thunderstorms, she coughed.</p><p>A few seconds later, she coughed again.</p>
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<a name="section0022"><h2>22. The Plans</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>Whatever magic sleep had on my body, it worked its wonders on my legs that night, just as it had my torso and arms.</p><p>I awoke, absolutely elated, able to stretch my legs and wiggle my toes.</p><p>Pulling the covers of the bed off of me, I swung my legs over the side of the mattress, grinning with all the joy in the world. At last - at last - I had full control of my body.</p><p>I was no longer trapped.</p><p>I tried to stand, but I hadn't been on my feet in several days, so I had to try a few times. When I was at last upright, I walked around the room, only until my legs were no longer shaking.</p><p>I was better!</p><p>Hands quivering with excitement, I went to the dresser where my clothes were being stored and put on a fresh outfit, feeling like I had the world at my fingertips. Nadir was probably already at work at the palace, and I doubted Erik would be here for several hours, but I could show Mitra. I could show Reza.</p><p>I went to the door, opened it, and found my way to the staircase. I went down, slowly - not just for the element of surprise, but also because I didn't want to trip and kill myself with my renewed legs.</p><p>It was at the bottom of the stairs that I heard that chatter of three voices. Male voices, all speaking French. One was definitely Erik. Another Nadir. And I made out the accented, jolly tones of Ibrahim as well.</p><p>Perfect.</p><p>Silent-footed, I made my way through the halls and to the opened door of the dining room - but I didn't enter. I stood just outside of it, against the wall, listening.</p><p>Nadir was speaking.</p><p>"...and this is why, really, we must make haste with our plans. The Khanum is growing more insane by the day, and the Shah has no intention of relenting his violence. Stalling in any way will only mean further needless deaths-"</p><p>"The deaths could be stopped any time," said Erik nonchalantly, "technically speaking. But yes, Nadir, I understand. You want him to feel pain. I do too, for everything he's done. So that's why I've already made it clear that I am continuing to work on it. I haven't stopped."</p><p>"Daroga," said Ibrahim, "why do you continue to barrage the Angel of Death with these demands? It's not even me who's working on the project and I'm exhausted by it - and I also want the Shah out of power. I want his brother on the throne. But Allah above, these meetings are growing tiresome..."</p><p>Maybe, I thought, they are choosing to speak in French just in case the servants are listening. I doubt this is conversation they'd want anyone else hearing and understanding. Maybe that's why Erik taught Ibrahim French in the first place - the language could become a secret conspiratorial code.</p><p>At last, I made myself visible in the doorway. Ibrahim and Nadir were sitting side by side, their backs to me. Nadir was sitting up straight, like a rod was down his spine, while Ibrahim lounged, leaning back, his hands behind his head. Erik's masked face was to me, and he was leaning forward, over what looked like a cup of coffee and countless sheets of paper. When I saw him, his eyes were trained on Ibrahim as he spoke, but my movement caused his gaze to travel over his head and to my presence.</p><p>It took him only a moment to register that I was standing there, and when that fact clicked into place in his mind, his eyes widened and he shot upward; he knocked into the table a bit on his way up, and the coffee wobbled dangerously.</p><p>At his alarm, his two companions turned around as well. All three men were looking at me, dumbfounded, as I lifted a hand and waved to them, smiling.</p><p>"Good morning," I said. "I have legs again."</p><p>The relief in Erik's eyes was palpable. He gave a closed-lipped, genuine smile as he looked me over.</p><p>Nadir's eyebrows went up in pleasant surprise, and Ibrahim grinned widely. "So you do!" exclaimed the Grand Vizier.</p><p>"That's good news," said Nadir, nodding. "Very good news."</p><p>"Why don't you join us, then, Christine?" Ibrahim gestured to a chair next to Erik, who was already pulling that seat out for me. "It's always good to have pleasant company."</p><p>I glanced at the Daroga. "Am I not...interrupting anything?"</p><p>Erik shrugged and collected the papers. He stacked them neatly atop one another and placed them in front of Nadir. "Nothing important." A gleam entered his eye as I made my way to the chair. "This is excellent news. We should celebrate." He looked at the Daroga, who now appeared entirely exhausted. "Do you have any cake, Monsieur Khan?"</p><p>"Do I have any what?" Nadir was flipping through the papers.</p><p>"Cake." He finally sat. I was sitting too. He leaned toward me and asked softly, "Chocolate cake?"</p><p>I smiled again. "Chocolate is delicious."</p><p>"Oh yes," piped in Ibrahim, "I do love chocolate."</p><p>"Chocolate cake it is, then." Erik clapped his hands twice. "Well, Nadir? Better get to it. Christine and Ibrahim want chocolate cake."</p><p>Nadir didn't even look up; he only continued examining the pages (which I couldn't see well at this angle) through his spectacles. His tone was dry. "I don't have chocolate cake, Erik."</p><p>Erik gaped, genuinely affronted. "Christine regains the use of her legs out of absolutely nowhere, and you tell me that you don't have a decadent desert readily prepared?"</p><p>"It's not out of nowhere," I corrected him, "I've been getting better by the day."</p><p>Erik threw up his hands in exasperation. "Even worse."</p><p>I giggled. He looked at me, and his act of a man deeply insulted was broken momentarily by the smile that threatened to reveal itself.</p><p>"Erik," said Nadir, and raised his jade eyes to him, "are Christine and Ibrahim going to eat all of this cake themselves?"</p><p>"I have no issue with this," commented Ibrahim, winking at me. "We can tackle it, can't we, Rose?"</p><p>"Because," Nadir continued, "I don't want cake - I'm not giving Reza any at this hour, either - and we all know you're not going to eat it. So unless the servants all want a slice, it will only be the two of them eating this dessert by themselves."</p><p>"Such assumptions, Daroga," drawled Erik, and patted his slight stomach. "You know I have a voracious appetite."</p><p>"For a mouse, perhaps."</p><p>"Actually, I'm not fond of cheese," he mused, "but point well taken. Can Christine at least have breakfast, then?"</p><p>Nadir called out to Nazneen in Persian. The kitchen must have been close, for I heard her respond from a room away.</p><p>"So," said Erik to me, as casually as if he were discussing the weather, "you already know that we are planning on killing the Shah."</p><p>I nodded slowly, surprised at the sudden change of topic and openness with which he brought it up. I glanced at the fully-open door. </p><p>"Well," he asked, "do you have any suggestions for how to do it?"</p><p>Ibrahim sat up straight, interest in his features. Nadir sighed. "Erik," he said, "we already have a plan for it-"</p><p>"And what if her suggestions are better than our idea? She's quite intelligent, Nadir."</p><p>"I didn't say she wasn't-"</p><p>"I'd like to hear her ideas, as well." Ibrahim interlaced his fingers in front of him on the table.</p><p>Nadir shook his head, rolling his eyes, but seemed to relent. He looked at me expectantly, though doubtful.</p><p>"I don't..." I said, frowning. "I don't have any ideas."</p><p>Nadir nodded in approval. "And there you have it."</p><p>I looked between them all, at the annoyed expression on Nadir's face and the eager and interested expression on Ibrahim's and Erik's. The way Erik had brought up the topic really had been quite flippant. It seemed almost dangerous. It had been discussed before, but always with the door closed, with servants well out of earshot. "Do...the servants really not know French? Any French?"</p><p>Ibrahim's eyebrows shot up. "Afraid we are going to get caught?"</p><p>I shrugged. "Well..."</p><p>"I've tested, on various occasions, their knowledge of the language," said Nadir. "They're strictly Persian-speaking. The only one who can speak French is Reza's tutor - but he comes a mere hour a day, and we never speak of this when he's here. But I see you are intelligent for your cautiousness and foresight. Still," he added, looking at Erik, "we don't need anymore suggestions for how to go through with our plans."</p><p>"What about Reza?" I said. "He could overhear something. He could say the wrong thing to the wrong person, couldn't he? By accident?"</p><p>"Reza is well out of earshot," answered Erik, almost amused. "We always make sure of that."</p><p>"And if you are concerned the Shah has planted spies here," added Ibrahim, "it is doubtful we wouldn't have noticed an extra pair of eyes and ears lurking around. Remember that the Shah doesnt know of Echo Hall, and it's likely that if Nadir's servants were lying about their lack of French, someone would have outed us by now. And should the Shah suddenly gift Nadir another, unexpected servant, we will have to find another place to meet or another method of communication. Though I'm not even certain he knows we three are meeting at all. In fact, I doubt he does."</p><p>I paused.</p><p>If they felt it was safe, then I would play along too. After all, they were the ones most at risk of being caught. I quickly thought of every adventure book that I could remember ever reading.</p><p>"We could..." I said, and looked down - what was it they did in that one story about the knight and the princess? "We could drop a chandelier on his head."</p><p>Erik beamed. "Genius."</p><p>"I love it!" said Ibrahim. "What else do you have?"</p><p>"We could put a trap door in the floor, and have it fill with water when he falls through."</p><p>"Incredible," said Erik.</p><p>"Keep these coming, Rose," said Ibrahim.</p><p>"We could unleash a thousand scorpions into his bed," I said. That idea hadn't exactly come from a story I'd read - but I knew scorpions were painful. If I had to admit it, I was having fun with them. I was actually enjoying myself in their company.</p><p>"Superb," mused Erik.</p><p>"Really excellent," approved Ibrahim.</p><p>Erik looked at Nadir, reached across the table, and tapped on the paper. "You really should be writing these down, Nadir. Don't just sit there uselessly."</p><p>Nadir only glared at Erik. "You are the Angel of Death." He looked at Ibrahim. "And you are the Grand Vizier of Persia. For Allah's sake, why do the two of you act like children?"</p><p>"Nadir," said Ibrahim slowly, "your asshole is far too tight to be on me like this..."</p><p>"No, not children," he continued coldly, "Reza is more mature than either of you. You behave like..."</p><p>"Revelers of sin?" asked Erik. He cocked his head. "I'm not sure if it applies here, but you did call Ibrahim and me that once." He looked at his fellow reveler. "Did you hear that? We are revelers of sin."</p><p>Ibrahim lifted a glass of wine. I blinked. I hadn't even noticed that it was wine. What was the time? Eight in the morning? His tolerance must have run circles around mine - though, I suppose, that wasn't saying much. "I'll drink to that," he said.</p><p>Erik grinned. "You will drink to anything."</p><p>Ibrahim lifted his glass even higher. "And I will drink to that."</p><p>I grinned as well.</p><p>"The two of you," the Daroga continued, "and your constant need for attention..."</p><p>"That's Ibrahim," said Erik. "Do not get us confused. For the love of God, we are not the same person."</p><p>"You should be so lucky," said the Grand Vizier, taking a sip of his wine.</p><p>"You're practically the same person." Nadir rolled up the papers - clearly, no more work was getting done. I felt a bit guilty for it, but the pleasure of Erik and Ibrahim's conversation was far outweighing that emotion.</p><p>Erik frowned in disgust. "I'm not fucking Ibrahim."</p><p>Ibrahim's eyes twinkled. "Do you want to be fucking Ibrahim?"</p><p>Nadir ignored him. "Perhaps not, but you manage to fray my last nerve in a very similar fashion." He stood up. "I should be off to the palace, I suppose, since our business here appears to be finished." He nodded to me. "Enjoy your breakfast, Christine."</p><p>Erik and Ibrahim stayed behind while I ate my meal. When I was finished, the Grand Vizier also left for the palace. Erik and I continued sitting for a few minutes longer as I sipped on the last few drops of my tea. I think, really, I liked my new friends. But a realization occurred to me as I thought of them - Nadir Khan, Ibrahim Jahandir and Erik...</p><p>I didn't know Erik's last name. He'd never told me.</p><p>So I asked him.</p><p>I'd thought, of course, that it was a simple question - but he actually looked down and thought about it for several seconds, before looking up at me, eyes sober.</p><p>"Perrault," he said.</p><p>Erik Perrault.</p><p>It fit nicely.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>Over the course of the following week, life actually seemed fairly simple. It seemed as though, despite the absolute chaos the past week or so had brought me, my life in Persia - for however long it would be - would be peaceful.</p><p>Mitra was ecstatic to find me able to stand, and Reza was just as happy...But lessons. Lessons were the pinnacle of my day - and I like to think they were the same for Erik. That hour when I got to hear him sing, and just be near this man who'd shown me so much kindness and friendship (and had, honestly, asked for nothing in return) was what I looked forward to every morning and missed every night.</p><p>It was going well. So well. Too well.</p><p>A week after my legs decided to work, as he led me back from his chambers to Nadir's house through Echo Hall, he stopped abruptly. I could practically see the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. He spun to me, alarm in his eyes, and quickly placed his hand over my mouth.</p><p>I was glad he did, for I would have screamed.</p><p>Lying on the ground in front of us was a man in black leather clothing, his throat slit clean through, eyes wide and frozen in fear, his mouth in a similar position. A pool of blood was still wet beneath him.</p><p>He hadn't been there an hour ago.</p><p>But here he was now.</p><p>Which could only mean one of two things:</p><p>One of the few souls who knew about Echo Hall had killed him.</p><p>Or someone who wasn't supposed to know about Echo Hall had learned of its existence.</p><p>I didn't like either possibility.</p>
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<a name="section0023"><h2>23. The Doctor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>Marie Perrault was ill.</p><p>At first, it wasn't anything dire - simply a chest cold, it seemed - but when the fever hit and she struggled to get out of bed, even my mother grew concerned. Thinking back, I truly feel she was merely worried because losing Marie would mean being left with only me, but I digress.</p><p>My mother did the unthinkable: She went into the town that shunned her and asked for help. Not the common folk of the village, of course, but the doctor. He, as expected, turned her away, claiming that he simply had too many patients to look after - but he pointed her in the direction of a new doctor in town, a fairly young man who'd only just arrived a week ago and didn't yet have any patients (and, as I'd learn later, didn't actually need any, as he'd inherited his parents' large sum of wealth and only chose the occupation to pass the time).</p><p>Pierre Gamache.</p><p>She found his place of work. He naturally kept to himself and didn't yet know of the monstrous boy and his cursed mother, so when he met her, saw her beauty, he was smitten. He agreed to come and help - free of charge. All of this I'd overhear in quiet conversations in the weeks to come.</p><p>He met me while under the assumption that my mother had no children - this wasn't far off from the truth. I wasn't my mother's son. I was Marie's. I always had been.</p><p>So when he heard me greet my mother as Mother, saw me lying maskless next to Marie, my nanny wheezing in every breath, he was faced with two shocks:</p><p>The woman he was now very interested in had the added baggage of an existing child.</p><p>The child looked exactly like a living corpse.</p><p>Monsieur Gamache's brown eyes went wide, his face cloud-white.</p><p>My mother flew into a rage.</p><p>She pulled me from the bed, screaming at me to put my mask on.</p><p>Marie didn't even wake up.</p><p>Shaking, I did as she asked. I went to my own bed, sitting against the wall, my knees against my chest.</p><p>The doctor saw to Marie. He conducted tests on her, all while she slept.</p><p>Pneumonia.</p><p>She had pneumonia.</p><p>Sometimes people recovered.</p><p>And sometimes they didn't.</p><p>I closed my eyes.</p><p>I hoped that this was just another nightmare too.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - - </p><p>At first, the doctor went home every night.</p><p>But after two weeks, he started staying.</p><p>He started staying in my mother's room.</p><p>I didn't know, honestly, what they did in there. Obviously, I knew they slept - but sometimes I would hear what sounded like wailing from the room when I went through the house to get a glass of water late at night. I would hear her yelling his name, him returning the gesture with her name - Madeleine.</p><p>Perhaps my mother really was distraught over Marie's illness. Perhaps the doctor was too. But what a strange way to grieve - by shouting each other's names and moaning.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>Now that Marie was severely afflicted - and not getting better - I took on the task of cooking and cleaning. I made enough food for the four of us - I didn't like Monsieur Gamache's presence, but he was helping Marie get better, so I included him in my measuring of ingredients. I couldn't purchase groceries, so he took on the task. He never handed me the food directly - he never liked meeting my gaze. I'd find bags on the counter ready for me.</p><p>I never ate with them. I took my meal - generally a soup of some kind, as that was all I knew, really, how to make - as well as Marie's to my bedroom. I helped her eat it, sometimes feeding her directly if she was too feverish and in pain to even lift a hand.</p><p>She'd taken care of me all these years, so I would do the same for her.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>At around the three week mark, the doctor began saying that he wasn't sure Marie would recover at all.</p><p>I prayed. I prayed every night that she would. My stomach was in absolute knots. I continued cooking and cleaning because it was helping me keep my mind off of what was rapidly becoming the inevitable, but I couldn't eat the food I made. I could barely sleep at night either.</p><p>At three-and-a-half weeks, I heard him speaking to my mother in the dining room.</p><p>He said that he wanted to marry her.</p><p>He said that he wanted to start fresh with her.</p><p>That though he'd only just moved here, he was willing to leave and go somewhere else. He had family in Toulouse - and it was beautiful there.</p><p>But he wanted it to be only them.</p><p>To start a family from scratch.</p><p>He said he knew someone who could take me - someone who would be very happy to take me.</p><p>I went to bed that night, bitterly glad that if I lost Marie as well as Sasha, I would at the very least be given to someone who wanted me there.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>At the four-week mark, Marie wouldn't wake up.</p><p>She felt cold to the touch, and she wasn't breathing.</p><p>I called for my mother, for the doctor.</p><p>The doctor ran up. He checked her.</p><p>Dead.</p><p>She was dead.</p><p>Marie was gone.</p><p>I'd been so...calm up until now.</p><p>I didn't know how I'd been calm up until now.</p><p>I think there was a small piece of me that had held hope that she'd survive. Marie had been a constant in my life since the moment I was born.</p><p>But now-</p><p>Now she was gone.</p><p>And I was alone.</p><p>Truly alone in the world.</p><p>And the worst part was that I was responsible.</p><p>If I hadn't insisted on burying Sasha, she wouldn't have stood in the rain.</p><p>And if she hadn't stood in the rain, she wouldn't have gotten sick.</p><p>I screamed.</p><p>I picked up the bedside lamp and threw it against the wall, breaking it.</p><p>I went to the ground and pounded at the floor at my side with my fists and feet, tears streaming down my face as I made inhuman noises.</p><p>I ripped off my mask, feeling like I had a lack of air, my chest and throat feeling tight. I screamed until my vocal cords were raw.</p><p>I had so much grief and I had nowhere to put it, and that was making me feel absolutely insane.</p><p>My mother was backed up into a corner.</p><p>She feared me; she'd never comforted me and certainly wouldn't now.</p><p>There was every possibility that no one ever would again.</p><p>I closed my eyes, sobbing.</p><p>I opened them again with a gasp of surprise as a sharp pain went into my arm.</p><p>I looked down at it, to see the doctor pushing a needle connected to a tube of liquid into my limb.</p><p>I was about to ask him, through my tears and wails, what he was doing.</p><p>But the world began to slow down, become less defined. I felt suddenly quite happy, felt the desperate need to sleep. I forgot what I'd been crying about at all.</p><p>My eyes shut a second time and I drifted away from consciousness altogether.</p>
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<a name="section0024"><h2>24. The Culprit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>The image of the dead Echo was like a brightly-colored painting hanging on the wall of my mind. Its brushstrokes were meticulously detailed, and every time I looked at it, something new seemed to appear to me, to reveal itself, as I hadn't noticed it before. I didn't want it there. I found it ugly, gauche, and rude. But it was nailed in place. It wouldn't budge - and the worst part was that it was the main exhibit of my mental eye. It drowned out everything else.</p><p>The taste-tester's death had sickened me to my stomach, but it had happened in the middle of existing anxiety. It had been terrible, but I'd forgotten about it quickly.</p><p>This death, though not quite nauseating, was staying with me.</p><p>I wasn't entirely certain why, though I suspect it had to do with the fact that it had been entirely, completely unexpected. Echo Hall, Erik, singing lessons - these things were supposed to be safe. To see a man with his throat slit open had turned the world on its side once more - like the universe mocked me for settling into a peace.</p><p>Reza and Erik played with the violin-wielding automaton on the floor of my bedroom in Nadir's house, as I sat on the armchair, legs curled up to my chest, paper resting on a book against my knees. I drew. I'd been drawing since noon - and I had been working on the same picture, adding details to it, then putting it down, then picking it up again</p><p>A recreation of the dead Echo.</p><p>As if drawing it would siphon the mental image onto the page and make it stick there.</p><p>But now it had been hours. Hours. So many that the sky was purpling and my stomach was protesting its hunger. I'd skipped lunch.</p><p>Obvious reasons.</p><p>My stomach's growls were apparently so loud that they caught Erik's attention. He was lying down on his side atop the carpeted floor, propped up by his elbow. He turned his attention to me and tilted his head. "Are you in need of dinner, Christine?"</p><p>I shook my head. I tapped my pen against the paper.</p><p>"A light snack, perhaps?" he offered.</p><p>"No."</p><p>He shrugged and turned back to the toy, which was currently being activated by Reza's clapping hands. The boy was practically bouncing where he sat cross-legged next to Erik. I pursed my lips, staring at the page. I'd already added every detail I could remember, but the memory simply wouldn't go away.</p><p>Frustrated, I let out a sharp huff of air and put the drawing on the table next to me. Erik had already seen what I'd been drawing, but if he had any opinions on it, he kept them to himself. He acted as though I'd been drawing a field of daisies.</p><p>I was glad he was here.</p><p>I was glad he didn't have an execution tonight - that he'd finished executing the Violet Dawn members. Yesterday evening had been the last of it. I was surprised to find out how few there were - half a dozen, including Amir, plus the servant girl. But tonight he was free; tonight, there was no need for him to go away.</p><p>Nadir had allowed him to be here, so long as he worked on his plans. And he did. I'd watched him. He'd sat in this very chair and worked while I made morbid art on my bed or the floor. He was only breaking now because Reza wanted to play - and the moment the chair was free, I nabbed it.</p><p>He was watching me now as I wrapped my arms around my legs. "What's on your mind?" he asked, and glanced at Reza. "Besides the obvious, of course."</p><p>"Just the obvious," I murmured.</p><p>He continued looking at me, and though he was unmoving, there was understanding in his gaze. He didn't have to say anything. I already knew what was happening downstairs.</p><p>The killer, he'd told me, would be found. Nadir had been spending all evening questioning each and every Echo who came into his study.</p><p>I'd never thought to question exactly how the Echoes worked, but it was today that I learned regardless.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>The Echoes are each allocated a specific section of the Palace. They shift positions weekly.</p><p>Every day, at a certain time in the evening - one by one - the Echoes come to Nadir through the trap door in his floor to report in whispered tones or written notes what they've heard.</p><p>They get five minutes each.</p><p>There are twenty Echoes in total, so they do this over the course of a few hours. Nadir sits in his study and waits for them to arrive - no servants are allowed into the room during this time; the door is kept locked. Should the trap door be open, this means that another is currently through the door, and the Echo will wait in hiding until that visitor disappears.</p><p>There are rooms throughout the Hall, with hidden doorknobs and unseen inhabitants, where the Echoes sleep and replenish themselves. Apparently, these men never leave the Hall at all, never talk to another soul - their lives are within the walls of the palace, and their only company the words no one knows they can hear. One particular Echo does regularly leave and return through Nadir's study late at night - a courier of sorts - who ensures that the rest of the Daroga's spies have plenty of food, water, and clean rooms.</p><p>I couldn't imagine it - that life.</p><p>Never leaving the darkened halls.</p><p>Never speaking to another soul, except one man for five minutes a day in a very formal setting.</p><p>Truly, it seemed enough to make a man go mad.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>Parvana arrived in the doorway.</p><p>Erik stood and picked up Reza off the floor, putting him to a standing position as well. "All right," Erik said, "it's time for bed."</p><p>Reza groaned.</p><p>"I know," agreed Erik, "it's not as much fun as this. But you stay up any longer and your father won't let me come here anymore. He'll say I'm bad for your health, making you stay up late. Do you want that?"</p><p>Reza's face fell. "No."</p><p>"Then go with Parvana to sleep." He picked up Reza's toy and handed it to the nanny. He nodded at her gently, and she nodded back. She took Reza's hand and led him away.</p><p>"Goodnight Erik," called Reza as he left the room. "Goodnight, Christine!"</p><p>"Goodnight, Reza," I said from the chair.</p><p>"Goodnight." Erik watched, as I did, the door close softly behind them. He turned to me then. "You really should eat something."</p><p>"I'm not hungry." My stomach gurgled.</p><p>He smirked. "Your internal organs seem to disagree."</p><p>I didn't respond to that. Instead, I looked down. My internal organs were doing flips even while they asked for food. "Is it really true?"</p><p>"Is what true?"</p><p>"That the dead Echo is the one who caught Amir and the rest of the Violet Dawn?"</p><p>"Yes." Erik sat on my bed. "It's true." His gaze went to the door and I studied him. The more I got to know him, the more I realized that the flippant attitude he often exuded was actually just exhaustion. He was tired. All of the time. And yet, he had seemingly boundless energy. I wondered what it was like to be in his mind. I wished others would take the time to wonder, too.</p><p>But, instead, he faced enemies on all sides. Constantly.</p><p>"I have a question," I whispered.</p><p>"I may have an answer, depending."</p><p>"If the Violet Dawn has been targeting you, why has no attempt been made on you."</p><p>He smiled ruefully. "Oh, attempts have been made, but they never get far. The Shah keeps my chambers very well-guarded, and I've apparently been extraordinarily lucky when it comes to the kitchen staff not wishing me dead." He brought his eyes to me. "Though, I asked Nadir what he learned from the Echo - specifically, why the Violet Dawn chose to now target you in the poisoning rather than me. Even if there was a belief that I could detect poisons, why not still try? Well..." He stretched his legs out in front of him. He could reach the ground from the bed easily, while my toes barely touched the floor from the same mattress. "Apparently, the belief in my supernatural abilities is so strong, that they not only believed I would detect the poison, but who poisoned it. The reason for the poisoning of your tea was twofold - if I didn't test your tea, then you would be put out of your misery. If I did test your tea, then it would mean I care about what happens to you and thus have a weakness, making Amir a bit of a sacrificial lamb."</p><p>He leaned back so that he was lying down on the bed, his legs still hanging off the side and his feet flat on the floor. He put his arm over his eyes.</p><p>"What they didn't count on," he continued, "was that the sorcerous dragon they've plotted to slay would find and kill all of them at once - though they were correct about him caring about Christine's well-being."</p><p>I paused for a moment. "Kristine with a K?"</p><p>He paused for two. "No."</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>I eventually relented and asked for something small for dinner - just so that I didn't absolutely hate myself for starving in the middle of the night. Erik went with me downstairs to the dining room, where Nazneen prepared the both of us stew. Aside from the dinner with the Shah, I'd never seen him eat before.</p><p>"I only eat at night," he explained. "I've never had an appetite. If I could, I'd choose never to eat."</p><p>Indeed, when he ate, it was very small bites.</p><p>When our bowls were nearly empty, Nadir came into the dining room.</p><p>His face was grim.</p><p>He didn't even greet us properly before he sat down to speak.</p><p>"One of the Echoes came forth," he said lowly, "with a suicide letter and knife. He claims to have been going back to his rooms to eat something and found him there. He picked the items up next to the body, sometime before you found him lying there." He took a deep breath. "Tonight, I will have to put that man to death."</p><p>I blanched. "Why?"</p><p>"He tampered with another Echo - intentionally went near him." Nadir's frown deepened. "They are not supposed to do that."</p><p>"But he was dead," I said. "I would have done the same thing-"</p><p>"And that's why you aren't one of my trusted spies," he countered. "Besides, I highly doubt it was a suicide. I believe that the Echo who came forth killed the other."</p><p>Erik leaned back in his chair. "That's quite possible."</p><p>"It's extremely possible." Nadir adjusted his glasses. "You saw the frightened expression on the man's face. And you should have read the suicide letter - quite contrived. Claiming that he was in love with the female servant you killed, and that it pushed him over the edge to have his actions lead to her death."</p><p>At the words you killed, Erik winced lightly beside me.</p><p>"And, to add to that, the Echo who came forth has, in the past, begged me to let him spy on you, and has expressed veiled negative sentiments against you, always quite bold about it; but he was an excellent spy, so I put it down to mere nervousness regarding the Angel of Death. He's always followed orders, but this?" He shook his head. "I believe he could be a last remaining member of the Violet Dawn, and so killed the Echo who outed his companions."</p><p>Erik was silent, and so was I. That could mean...that could mean that there were more members of the Violet Dawn that weren't caught. That could mean I was still in danger. Erik was still in danger.</p><p>"The moment this Echo is dead, Echo Hall will be safe again."</p><p>"Now, hold on," said Erik, leaning forward, "are you certain that this man definitely killed the other? Did he confess to it?"</p><p>"No. But I am certain."</p><p>"But why would he forge a suicide letter, bloody a knife, just to present them to you? Wouldn't the wise thing have been to leave the items there so no one tied him to any of it?"</p><p>"Perhaps he brought them forward to show he didn't do it," Nadir suggested, "making it even more suspicious."</p><p>"But there's a chance that it wasn't him?"</p><p>"No. I am sure he killed him." He stood. "And the moment I take his life, the Violet Dawn will be gone. Erik, you can now continue passing through Echo Hall as normal."</p><p>"But-"</p><p>"I will not repeat myself again." Nadir's eyes flashed - I'd never seen him lose his calm, and though I doubted he'd yell, that fiery expression in his gaze jolted me. "Echo Hall is now safe. The killer is caught. Goodnight."</p><p>He left the room, stiff as the tension that hung in the air.</p><p>A terrible unease was growing in my stomach - the same unease that I could see in Erik's eyes.</p><p>Nadir - careful, calculating, quiet, and collected Nadir - was being rather abrupt. Rather impulsive.</p><p>He seemed in a bit of a rush to make Echo Hall appear safe again.</p><p>He seemed in a bit of a rush to frame someone for the murder.</p>
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<a name="section0025"><h2>25. The Showman</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>When I awoke, my eyes didn't open immediately. They were heavy-lidded, and sleep was still calling me, caressing me, pulling me back into its arms and away from the fast-approaching world of reality.</p><p>But when I shifted - when I moved my arm and my fingers trailed past the blanket beneath me to something cold and hard, I forced myself to look.</p><p>I wasn't home. I wasn't even in a bed.</p><p>I was on a brown quilt spread on the floor of a cage. A cage.</p><p>The bars were thin and very close together, and it was just wide and tall enough for me to lay down and sit up with relative comfort. The roof of the cage was a flat metal surface</p><p>And sit up I did, my situation causing alarm to shoot through me like an arrow to the stomach. I felt sore there suddenly, not quite sick but deeply, deeply troubled and unnerved. The claustrophobic atmosphere didn't help, either. The space around the cage was small, cramped. It was decorated like a house, with a table and chairs and what appeared to be a kitchen, a bed in the far corner of the room and a door at the other, but it seemed far too small to be a house. This space was smaller than my mother's bedroom.</p><p>Where was I?</p><p>And how on Earth did I get here?</p><p>My every muscle sluggish, I went to my knees and searched for a door to the cage. Through a window in the room, I could see that it was dark, but there was an oil lamp lit on the small table. I found a minuscule crack in the bars and identified it as a possible way out.</p><p>I pushed on the door, but it wouldn't budge.</p><p>I tried again, but it was locked.</p><p>My eyes widened. "Hello?" I called, voice small. "Is anyone there?"</p><p>A thump sounded above me, making me start, and then what sounded like an animal licking its chops and yawning. It was then that I realized that the flat metal surface above me wasn't a roof, but the floor of an entirely different cage. I was being held, stacked, underneath something living, both of us imprisoned in this strange room.</p><p>My head whipped to the front door of the room as it opened with a creak, and a man walked in. His clothes were very clean, but his blonde hair appeared oily. His receding hairline showed off a shiny, large forehead, and the rest of his hair was pulled back into a low ponytail. He wasn't tall or short, nor thin or fat - he was entirely average in that regard.</p><p>And when he saw me there, he smiled - and though it was pleasant, it didn't match his cold blue eyes.</p><p>"So he awakens," said the man, "finally." He went to the table and sat, putting his feet out in front of him, crossing one ankle over the other. "I hope you'll excuse me. I was only out for a moment to smoke a cigar. They always taste better at night."</p><p>"Who are you?" I asked.</p><p>His smile widened. "Ah. Where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself." He put a ringed hand to his chest. "My name is Javert Benoit. But you, my little money-maker, will call me Master."</p><p>A chill went through me. "Master?"</p><p>"Yes, but don't worry. You'll get used to it quickly." He raised an eyebrow in amusement. "When you think about it, really, what are names? Nothing but a movement of the tongue against the teeth, a shape of the lips, that signals we are talking to or about another person. But they hold so much weight. A woman changes her name when married to show her devotion and willingness to join into her husband's family. Entire wars are fought over the naming of a country."</p><p>I went into a ball, my arms around my knees. "Why am I calling you Master?" I asked.</p><p>"Because you are my property," he said simply, "and it's the respectful thing to do - calling one's owner by that name. That's why." Again, he gave that charming smile - a smile that didn't quite sit right with me. "Are you hungry, by the way? Thirsty? You have been sleeping for upward of twelve hours. Whatever that doctor gave you must have been extremely strong."</p><p>The doctor.</p><p>"How did I get here?" I demanded suddenly. A horrible foreboding had started in my gut.</p><p>Javert's smile faded. "Rule one." He tapped a single finger against the table. "When I ask you a question, you answer it before changing the topic. Are we clear?"</p><p>I didn't like the edge his voice was now cut with, so I nodded.</p><p>"I'm sure we will find and establish more rules as time goes on, but that's a good start. Now answer my question, boy."</p><p>"I..." I said softly, "I'm not hungry or thirsty."</p><p>"Good. Your thinness goes well with your face - wouldn't want to ruin the effect by fattening you up."</p><p>At the mention of my face, my hand flew to my cheek - only to find the familiar piece of leather missing entirely. My eyes widened. "Where is my mask?"</p><p>"You don't need it for now. I might add it to the show down the road, but for now there's no point to it."</p><p>I stared at him. He'd been looking at my bare face this entire time and hadn't flinched. Not once.</p><p>I straightened suddenly.</p><p>Did he say show?</p><p>"Please," I said, "why am I...how did I get here?"</p><p>"That doctor sold you to me," he said, "for fifteen francs. Quite a deal."</p><p>Fifteen francs.</p><p>To Monsieur Gamache and my mother, I was worth fifteen francs.</p><p>I felt as though I might be sick.</p><p>"He approached me a week ago, telling me he had something that I could add to my exhibition." He examined me. "When he told me what it was, I bought another cage straight away."</p><p>Was he talking about me? Calling me it? Calling me something? And...exhibition? Before I could think too much longer on it, realization dawned on me. "You're...you're the person who was happy to take me."</p><p>"Oh, I am very happy to take you. You, my little friend, are going to earn me a fortune with that face."</p><p>I froze. "What do you mean?"</p><p>Javert paused, and then trailed his eyes upward to whatever creature was existing above me. He stood from his chair, took a key from his pocket, and unlocked the upper cage. At the sound of the lock, the creature became restless, panting and scratching at the cage floor.</p><p>The moment the door was open, it hopped down from its small prison.</p><p>A dog, large and black, with pointed ears and a long snout, stood next to Javert.</p><p>No.</p><p>Three sets of pointed ears.</p><p>Three snouts.</p><p>But one body.</p><p>This was, I saw with utter shock, a three-headed dog.</p><p>"Boy," he said, and gripped the dog by its three chain collars which met in a triangular leash, "meet Cerberus. The tricephalic beast, guardian of the Underworld."</p><p>The dog's three heads watched me carefully. The head in the middle extended its neck as much as it could to sniff at the cage. At me.</p><p>"I found him about three years ago, when he was a puppy," Javert explained. He tightened his hold on the chain forcefully, yanking it up, and Cerberus's middle head retreated with a whimper. The other two heads lowered in fear. "Ever since, I have been travelling the country, showing him off - people love it. People adore the truly rare. They have seen bearded women. They've seen tattooed men and dwarfs. Those are standard at any freak show. But Cerberus - how often is it that you meet an animal with many heads? Displaying him alone is enough to give me a decent income."</p><p>Cerberus was still staring at me. All six eyes. I think the dog had no idea what to make of me.</p><p>"Lucky for you," said Javert, eyes glinting, "the famous Cerberus is now your coworker." He slapped the area above the dog's tail roughly, and Cerberus immediately jumped up, back into his cage, as though the mean gesture were a learned command. "The doctor told me that no one in this little village has ever seen your face. Is that true?"</p><p>"That's true," I whispered. Mostly true. The foreboding intensified, making the darkness outside the window appear even blacker.</p><p>Javert grinned his white-toothed grin. "Perfect."</p>
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<a name="section0026"><h2>26. The Crown</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>"What color is this one?"</p><p>I lifted my gaze from where my paintbrush touched the paper and looked at the bottle of paint that Reza held in his hands. We were both on the floor of my room. He'd brought his violinist toy in with him to spend time with me, while I laid on my stomach and painted. I've never dabbled in paint much before - I preferred pens and pencils - but Nadir said he had some and asked me if I wanted to use it. I said yes.</p><p>"That one," I said, "is called pink."</p><p>"What does pink sound like?" he asked, leaning forward, resting a hand on his crossed legs. Parvana was sitting in the chair behind him.</p><p>I smiled. Initially, I'd tried simply painting over pictures I'd already drawn. But when Reza wanted to join me in here, I asked him what I should paint. He said that I should paint a crown - that he wanted to wear it and pretend to be a prince. I liked the idea and agreed.</p><p>As of right now, all I'd done was draw the crown's outline so that I could later cut it out. I'd also painted blue and yellow gems onto the base.</p><p>I dropped the paintbrush into the cup of water to let it soak the colors out and put my head into one of my hands, examining the bottle of pink in Reza's hand. He'd asked me, first, what blue looked like. When it became impossible for me to answer that question without simply saying "it looks like blue", I contextualized it by saying that it sounded like gentle humming and oceans lapping on the shore. He was satisfied, and then asked what yellow sounded like - and I said that it sounded like laughter and a light breeze.</p><p>So what did pink sound like?</p><p>"It sounds like..." I narrowed my eyes at the bottle. "It sounds like someone singing a beautiful song."</p><p>He nodded and placed the bottle down. "You should add pink to the crown."</p><p>I reached for the bottle. "All right."</p><p>Reza smiled in satisfaction and turned to his right, back to the toy, and clapped. The violin music started.</p><p>Three days.</p><p>It had been only three days since Erik and I had seen the dead Echo in the hidden halls of the Palace. And yet it seemed like weeks ago. The involuntary visions of the frozen, frightened face above the bloody slit neck faded with every passing hour, but what stayed firmly in place was the tight feeling in my stomach every time I saw Nadir.</p><p>Something wasn't right.</p><p>If Nadir wanted the murder solved quickly so that Echo Hall could retain its safe status, that didn't sit well with me - that meant he was putting convenience over the lives of others. Over Erik's life. My life.</p><p>If he wanted the murder solved quickly because he wanted the investigation closed, not to be opened again, not to be looked further into...that I liked even less.</p><p>But what reason could he have for killing, or supporting the killing, of one of his own Echoes? The Echo who found the Violet Dawn, no less. If anything, it would stand to reason that the dead Echo should have been rewarded. The Violet Dawn wanted to kill Erik and me, and Nadir didn't want Erik dead. He didn't want me dead.</p><p>Did he?</p><p>Though he was still kind, though I wanted to feel safe in his home, every time I saw Nadir, I felt jumpy. Erik, I could tell, felt the same. He'd started keeping his conversations with Nadir quite short when he could, and insisted that he would hold the lessons in my room in the Daroga's house so that I wasn't passing through Echo Hall at all.</p><p>I'd pointed out that he was still passing through, but he said not to worry. That he could take care of himself quite easily.</p><p>I looked to the bedroom door. I knew that, at this very moment, Erik and Nadir were downstairs discussing their plans - Ibrahim would be joining them soon. I still had no idea what the plans entailed, though I knew Erik had quite a lot to do with it.</p><p>There.</p><p>That right there proved that the Daroga didn't want to kill Erik. He needed Erik to fulfill his wish to punish the Shah.</p><p>But, still, he didn't need me.</p><p>I shook the thought away.</p><p>I had to stop this paranoia before it tore my mind into mad bits.</p><p>Nadir didn't want me dead. There was no possible way. Why would he want that? Because I was taking too much of Erik's time? No, he'd said himself that he was one of my friends, and if I started doubting any more friendships after what happened with Amir, I'd fall to pieces. I'd start doubting Ibrahim. I'd doubt Mitra. Even Reza.</p><p>I'd doubt Erik.</p><p>Again.</p><p>And I wanted to trust them. I wanted to trust them all.</p><p>I finished adding pink to the crown - intricate swirls that looped around the gems and veered off into delicate branches. I went to my knees and then to my feet, picking up the paper and setting it on the bedside table to dry. I then sat back down, across from Reza, so that the toy was between us.</p><p>"Let's try to clap as hard as we can," I said, "to see just how quickly this little man can play."</p><p>He grinned and did as I said. I smiled even wider and clapped my hands as quickly as I could. I found myself leaning forward as I concentrated on bringing my hands together and apart with as much speed as I could muster. Reza was doing the same. His face scrunched in concentration and he let out a small growl. The noise was so cute - and the automaton was playing with such ridiculous fervor - that I laughed and ceased clapping. Reza's face broke into a smile again and he stopped a well. Parvana looked just as pleased.</p><p>My father always said that music and laughter were universal languages.</p><p>"That was fun!" he said. He picked up the toy and fingered the small instrument in its hands. "Erik said that this instrument is called a violet."</p><p>"Violin," I corrected.</p><p>"Oh."</p><p>"My father plays the violin."</p><p>He blinked in surprise. "You have a father?"</p><p>The corners of my lips tugged upward. "Everyone has a father."</p><p>"Erik doesn't." He put the toy back down onto the ground.</p><p>"He must have at some point."</p><p>"No," he said, shaking his head. "Erik is magic. He told me that he was hatched from an egg in the mountains where sorcerers enchant the trees and dragons fly overhead."</p><p>I looked to the bedroom door again, unsure whether to find that origin story amusing or very sad. Did he really think himself removed from humanity, a monstrous thing that was hatched, or was I thinking too deeply on the little tale?</p><p>After a time, I stood up and went to the paper. The paint was dry now, so I folded the ends of the crowns outline and carefully tore it from the rest of the paper. I did a fairly decent job, only a few nicks, a few bits of uneven edge. I took the two ends of the crown and went to the floor, adding a bit of paint to one end folded the other end over it, making them touch and hold together like glue. Now it only needed to dry again so that it wouldn't come undone.</p><p>And when the paint-glue was at last dry, I informed Reza that his crown was ready, but he no longer wanted it.</p><p>"But I made it for you!" I protested.</p><p>"I decided I want to be a sorcerer like Erik, not a prince." His eyes lit in excitement. "What do sorcerers wear?"</p><p>"I don't know." I looked at the finished product in my hands. "Maybe they wear crowns."</p><p>"Does Erik wear a crown?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>He pondered this for a moment, bringing a pointer finger to his lips. "You could give it to him. He'd like it. Especially since it's from me."</p><p>I gaped. "You? I made the crown, Reza."</p><p>"Yes, but it was for me, and now I'm giving it to Erik, so it's from me."</p><p>I smiled and shook my head. "All right. Fine. It can be from you."</p><p>"Can you go and give it to him?"</p><p>"I can later."</p><p>"Can you now?"</p><p>I looked at the crown. "I think that he is busy."</p><p>"Doing what?"</p><p>"Just...talking to your father."</p><p>"About what?"</p><p>"Nothing important, I don't think." That was, of course, a lie - but I couldn't tell Reza the topic.</p><p>"It will only take a moment to give it to him."</p><p>I thinned my lips. "We should wait."</p><p>"Then I can give it to him, if they're not talking about anything important."</p><p>Reza's hand began to reach for the crown, but I quickly stood. "No," I said hastily, "I can...I can go down. I'll see if Erik is free for a moment. If he is, I will hand it to him. If they are busy, we will give it to him later. Does that sound good?"</p><p>He smiled. "Yes."</p><p>I said I would be back soon. Holding the paper crown in my hands, suddenly very nervous, I left the bedroom and went into the upstairs hallway.</p><p>I wouldn't actually interrupt. Not if Nadir and Erik were speaking seriously. I'd go downstairs for a moment and then come right back up.</p><p>And that's what I did. I made my way down the stairs; I stood there for half a minute and waited. I could hear Nadir and Erik talking, but from where I stood, I couldn't make out their words.</p><p>I was about to go back up the stairs, when Ibrahim emerged from around the corner, from the direction of the study. He saw me and brightened.</p><p>"Good morning, Rose," he purred. "How are you today?"</p><p>"I'm all right," I said, "and you?"</p><p>"Excellent!" He looked me up and down, toward the staircase banister, and finally at the paper crown in my hand. "What are you doing at the bottom of the stairs? Ejected from the meeting in the dining room?"</p><p>"No, I wasn't part of the meeting."</p><p>His eyes twinkled. "Trying to spy, then?"</p><p>I flushed. "No, of course not."</p><p>"Then what?"</p><p>"I..." Didn't have a good answer. I also looked at the crown.</p><p>He took it from me before I could protest. "What is this?" He held it up in front of his face to look, turning it around, on its side, upside down to examine it, like it were a precious gem and not crudely cut parchment and paint.</p><p>"A crown."</p><p>"Did you make this?"</p><p>I nodded.</p><p>"For whom?"</p><p>"Reza," I said, "but he wanted me to give it to Erik instead."</p><p>He raised his brows at me. "And why do you not?"</p><p>"Because he's in a meeting with Nadir."</p><p>"So you stand at the bottom of the stairs instead, waiting for it to miraculously leave your hands and enter the dining room?" He looked at me dubiously. "I'm beginning to think the French may not be right in the head. Come." He put a hand between my shoulder-blades and escorted me forward. "We will go and give Erik his gift. It is quite lovely - better than the Shah's crown."</p><p>I looked at him. His well-groomed bearded face was stretched into a grin.</p><p>"Won't Nadir be upset? He wasn't happy at my interruption last time and-"</p><p>"Rose," he responded, "I am the Grand Vizier. I can do as I please. And since you are now my guest to this meeting, you may do as you please as well."</p><p>Feeling only slightly more confident, I allowed Ibrahim to push me into the dining room. I was greeted to a bored-looking Erik leaning back in his chair and drinking coffee as Nadir spoke over assorted papers. I wasn't listening to the words. Instead, I watched Erik's expression as he looked from Nadir to Ibrahim to me. His eyes became light when he saw me, but it was the Grand Vizier whom he addressed first.</p><p>"Hello, Ibrahim," he said, completely cutting Nadir off - who was now looking at me like a I was a fly in the room. "How was Echo Hall today?"</p><p>"Corpse-less."</p><p>Erik chuckled. Nadir scoffed. I tried not to look at the Daroga.</p><p>"Angel of Death," Ibrahim said then, "your gift brought you something."</p><p>Erik looked at me, interest lining his eyes. "And what would that be?"</p><p>"A gift of her own."</p><p>The interest doubled in intensity. "Oh?"</p><p>"It was actually for Reza," I explained, as Ibrahim lifted the crown for Erik to see. Erik took a moment to register what it was, and then went to his feet with a wide, mischievous smile. He came around the table to take it from Ibrahim. "But," I continued, "he said he wanted me to give it to you. So, technically, though I made it, it's from Reza."</p><p>"Well, I love it." Erik placed the crown atop his head and made his way back to his seat, every step a bit more graceful as he went. Ibrahim followed him closely and sat as well. Both men looked entirely tickled, while Nadir's lips were pursed. "Come and sit for a few moments, Christine."</p><p>"I..." I eyed Nadir's expression. "I can come back later."</p><p>"Nonsense!" Ibrahim said. "You're here now."</p><p>I hesitated, but when Nadir didn't outright dismiss me and Ibrahim gestured for me to do as Erik said, I took a seat at the far end of the table, away from where the men sat, so as not to be a disturbance.</p><p>"Anything to drink or eat?" Erik asked.</p><p>I shook my head. "I ate earlier this morning. I'm fine."</p><p>"Can we," said the Daroga, "please get back to what we were discussing?" He moved a few papers around on the table. "So, now that the Grand Vizier is here, we can - oh Allah above."</p><p>Erik was raising his hand high in the air like a schoolchild waiting to be called on. Ibrahim was trying unsuccessfully to hide his grin.</p><p>"What could you possibly-" Nadir began.</p><p>"Yes," said Erik, "I have a question."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>He lowered his hand and adjusted the crown. "When will I receive my royal fan-wavers."</p><p>Nadir sighed and closed his eyes. "Your what?"</p><p>"My fan-wavers," he responded, saying the words as though it were the most obvious request in the world. "The servants who wave fans at me to keep me cool."</p><p>Nadir removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. "What," he asked concisely, "the ever-loving fuck are you talking about?"</p><p>"Now, now, Nadir," chided Ibrahim. "You are speaking to the King of France."</p><p>"Emperor, actually," corrected Erik. "We rid ourselves of the King quite a few years ago. Had a little bit of a spat over it and everything. Just a small quarrel. But yes, the sentiment remains. And as the Emperor, I give my first decree: chocolate cake for Christine and Ibrahim." He grinned. "Let them eat cake!"</p><p>A vein was ready to pop in Nadir's temple. "This is not time to be making jokes."</p><p>Erik looked affronted. "Daroga. I am wearing a paper crown with painted pink swirls. Do you believe I would sit here and make jokes?"</p><p>Nadir spoke under his breath. "Why are you like this?" He opened his eyes and looked at me. "Christine," he said, "I apologize for my rudeness, but would you mind very much going back up to your room for now?"</p><p>I nodded and was up from my chair, even as Erik scoffed. I left the room as Ibrahim protested, "Oh, come now!" Feeling simultaneously disappointed and relieved to be gone from their presence, I made my way back up to my room.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>Erik came to my room a bit later to conduct our lesson. He sat with me on the bed, side by side, both of our feet hanging down.</p><p>But he appeared entirely somber now.</p><p>I wondered if Nadir had scolded him - but I doubted Erik would be affected by that at all. If anything, he'd find it amusing.</p><p>I smiled at him. "Reza was happy that you liked your gift," I said.</p><p>He smiled lightly in return. "It was wonderful, and I thank you both." His smile faded. "Christine."</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"Ibrahim let it slip to the Shah that you are well."</p><p>"Oh." I had no idea what that meant for me, but the way Erik was speaking made my stomach flip.</p><p>"He informed me after our meeting this morning - it was, of course, entirely by accident. He was talking of the party that he's hosting in a week and a half, and mentioned to the Shah that I will be attending, along with you - should I wish to bring you. This clued the Shah in that you've recovered."</p><p>"What does that mean, then?"</p><p>Erik lightly rubbed the sheet music in his hands with his thumbs, looking down. "The Shah told his mother, the Khanum, who has been quite interested in you since you were gifted to me. She asks me often about you - what you're like, how you are...any piece of information she can glean. She likes the idea of a monster and a maiden together."</p><p>"You're not a monster," I said on instinct.</p><p>He paused. "I appreciate that, Christine." He paused again. "Regardless, she does think so, and I believe she has a sick sense of intrigue when it comes to the sheer amount of pain and suffering you must be experiencing at my hands. And now that she knows you've recovered, her interest has piqued to an extreme."</p><p>I waited.</p><p>"Meaning," he continued, "she has now decided that she'd like you to attend another execution...sitting right next to her while I perform."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. The Freak</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>I did not sleep.</p><p>This wouldn't have been surprising even without my current circumstances. I'd been unconscious the entire day. To be quite honest, I wish I had been able to sleep that night. I would rather that than what happened instead:</p><p>I spent the entire time cooking in a stew of anxiety, the darkness like the lid of an unfamiliar and sinister pot closing in and trapping me inside.</p><p>I backed myself into the side of the cage that touched the wall. According to Javert, this space was his caravan - a tiny, moving house pulled by horses. The room was dark, lit only by the sliver of moonlight that entered through that window above the table. Javert was in his bed, snoring very lightly, and I could hear Cerberus's heavy breaths as he slept as well.</p><p>I felt on the surface that, perhaps, this wasnt real. None of it. That I'd awaken in Marie's arms from another nightmare. That morning sunshine would enter through my bedroom window. She'd kiss my forehead as my eyes opened and then ask for my help preparing breakfast.</p><p>But deeper inside me, I knew that it was real. I'd watched Marie, my mother by all accounts except blood, perish for weeks before my eyes while I could do nothing but try my absolute hardest to make her more comfortable, make sure that she was all right in what ways I could help. I'd watched the doctor declare her dead.</p><p>First Sasha. Now Marie. And I'd helped kill both of them.</p><p>I'd seemed to have exhausted my emotions by this point because, for all the grief I'd felt at the time of her passing, I felt numb. I felt so, utterly void of anything. I didn't even feel like a person.</p><p>I no longer was a person.</p><p>I was a showpiece. An attraction. A prop to bring Javert an income.</p><p>I was Le Fils d'Hades, and tomorrow evening, I would finally reveal to my village the horrors they'd whispered about, in fascination and terror, all these eight years.</p><p>But the longer the night drew on, the more I found that I simply didn't care.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>I finally did fall asleep in the morning.</p><p>Javert didn't disturb me.</p><p>There were a few moments when I heard a dog - or two, or three - sniffing around the cage, a couple of times when I could hear the door to the caravan swing open and shut. I doubt he let me sleep out of politeness - I think he simply had no use for me during the day so didn't want to bother with waking me.</p><p>It was only when darkness once again fell that Javert clanked his keys against the bars of the cage, creating a jarring, metallic sound that made me start and sit up straight. He smiled and unlocked the cage.</p><p>"Out," he said simply.</p><p>I blinked. "Out?"</p><p>"I think I hear an echo." He opened the door of my little prison. "Let's go."</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>His sky-blue eyes turned stormy. "Because I said so. That's good enough reason for you, boy."</p><p>I didn't have to be told again. I scrambled out of the cage and stood, wobbly-legged after so long in such a cramped space. Cerberus was currently lying down in his own cage, above mine, watching me, noses twitching slightly.</p><p>"Now," Javert said, turning to me, "I've already taken the beast out to relieve itself. Do you need the same? Better tell me now - I'm opening up in a half an hour."</p><p>I did need to, but a quick look around the space told me there was nowhere I could go for privacy. Perhaps he'd leave the caravan while I attended to my business?</p><p>"Is there..." I said softly, "a chamber-pot somewhere?"</p><p>His eyes widened and he laughed, looking truly tickled. "Oh, there is. But it's mine, and I dare say that I'm not sharing it with the likes of you. No, we will go outside, just like Cerberus."</p><p>Outside?</p><p>Like an animal?</p><p>"Won't someone...see me?" I whispered.</p><p>"We are on the edge of the village, and lucky for you, no one is here yet. But I can't promise that it will be that way for much longer. Do you need to relieve yourself or not?"</p><p>I said that I did.</p><p>And to my shocked humiliation, Javert placed a rope leash around my neck and pulled it tight. I must have been staring at him with an expression that revealed my feelings, for he grinned again and said, "Just in case you get any ideas about running."</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>He'd watched me.</p><p>And when he did, I felt that it was the most invasive breach of privacy I could imagine.</p><p>Compared to what came next, however, it was barely worth mentioning.</p><p>From the time I was small, from the time I could remember anything at all, Marie had taught me that I was handsome, good, and deserving of love. At least, she'd tried to teach me that.</p><p>In the span of three hours, all of her work was entirely undone.</p><p>After we came back inside, he gave me some bread and water to eat and drink quickly and stuffed me back into my cage.</p><p>Then, at the stroke of seven at night, Javert opened his caravan to the villagers who were flocking to his door upon hearing that he now had the monster who had been terrorizing their town locked in a cage on his floor. Javert did his best to introduce us as a pair: that Cerberus guarded the gates of the Underworld and I was the son of the Underworld's king. Half of them had already come to visit Cerberus before I'd been sold here, but it wouldn't have mattered even if they hadn't. Barely anyone paid the dog any mind.</p><p>Cerberus wasn't what they came to see.</p><p>In groups of four, he let people in, just to charge them an admission fee to stare at my bare face.</p><p>The first time, I'd been so upset by the scream the woman let out, the curses of disgust that the men with her emitted, that I'd hidden my head in my elbows and curled into a ball. Javert had escorted the guests out and asked the next party to wait, just so that he could tie my wrists, spread far apart, to the front corner bars of the cage - forcing me to my knees and making my face impossible to hide.</p><p>I let out a sob.</p><p>Javert sneered, disgusted and impatient at having his show interrupted by my childlike emotions.</p><p>"Oh," he snarled, "cry, cry, cry! And cry some more! See how much I care, little freak. You'd do well to choose a different tactic. Tears will get you absolutely nowhere with me."</p><p>And so I closed my eyes and went away from this world as the hours dragged on, my knees aching from the constant kneeling and my wrists burning where the too-tight rope was cutting into my skin. I ignored the jeers, whispered comments, curses, shrieks, and occasional laughter. I ignored, too, the words of gratitude some of the men and women expressed toward Javert for ridding their town of the cursed demon child. Instead, I went to where home was. I went to where Marie was. Where Sasha was. I imagined them alive, safe, happy, in the parlor. I imagined myself playing piano with her again, with Sasha on the floor. I imagined that nothing had changed, except perhaps my mother was walking for two hours rather than one. Better yet, my mother went and found the doctor, and the two of them went far, far off to another city, another country, another continent, leaving me alone with my favorite people. The only two people who loved me. Marie and Sasha. Sasha and Marie.</p><p>But then someone would scream, and it would remind me of where I was.</p><p>Who I was.</p><p>Because I wasn't handsome. I was ugly.</p><p>I wasn't good. I was a monster.</p><p>I wasn't deserving of love.</p><p>I wasn't.</p>
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<a name="section0028"><h2>28. The Khanum</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>The night before I was expected to attend an execution by the Khanum's side, I slept restlessly.</p><p>I didn't want to see another death.</p><p>Despite the fact that several days had passed since Erik told me I was to watch, I still wasn't prepared. How did Erik do this? How did he conduct killing after killing and not completely lose his mind?</p><p>I had only been asleep for, I would say, an hour when my mind awoke again to the sound of my door closing shut softly. This light of a noise normally wouldn't have roused me, but I was barely touching the realm of sleep as it was. I opened my eyes to see a shadowy form standing by the door, hand still on the doorknob.</p><p>In a panicked moment of sudden clarity, I bolted upright and switched on the lamp.</p><p>Erik.</p><p>Not some murderer coming after me.</p><p>It was just Erik.</p><p>"Oh," I whispered. He was watching me with wide eyes. "Hello."</p><p>"I'm sorry I scared you," he responded softly, finally removing his hand from the knob.</p><p>"You didn't. Not really. I'm just...on edge." I attempted a smile.</p><p>He nodded. "Me too."</p><p>I sat up a little straighter. "You are?"</p><p>His lower lip thinned as he looked down. His hands fidgeted gently at his side. "I'm more than on edge," he explained lowly. "I'm...frightened. Terribly. And I didn't know where else to go but here."</p><p>I watched him, and as I did, I indeed spotted in his eyes the same expression I'd seen when we'd entered Mirror Hall, the same look he'd held when it was storming outside. Scared. Unbelievably scared. He wasn't looking into a mirror and the weather was peaceful. So what was he afraid of?</p><p>I had a feeling that I knew.</p><p>"Why?" I asked. "What's frightening you?"</p><p>His eyes lifted to mine again. "I don't want to perform tomorrow." When I didn't respond, only continued watching him, he took a deep breath. "I don't want you to hate me."</p><p>I shook my head. "I won't."</p><p>"You don't know that."</p><p>"I do. I've already seen you...perform." I said the last word in a softer manner than the others.</p><p>"This is different." He stiffened. His eyes held me steadily. "When the Shah asks me, on rare occasion, to kill for him, it's for functionality. Yes, there is magic involved, but that's it. It's not, really, a performance. When it's for the Khanum, it is. I become something else. I put on an act to turn into death. The Shah dislikes it, finds it excessive and contrived - of which I actually agree - but his mother loves it. It's disturbing. It's intentionally disturbing. And I don't want you to see it."</p><p>His voice was so full of desperation that my shoulders slumped and I moved the blanket off of me, moving my legs to swing over the mattress. I didn't intend to stand, exactly, but I had the urge to remove barriers between us, even if the barrier was a quilt. "Erik..." I started.</p><p>"You used to fear me," he interrupted, voice small, strained, and I closed my mouth. "You were so scared of me. I know you thought I was going to hurt you, that I would live up to the stories you'd no doubt heard. But you don't feel that way anymore. No, in fact, you want my friendship. And I think that if you see me perform - actually perform - for the Khanum, you will rescind straightaway what small affections you do have for me, and you will fear me once more."</p><p>I didn't know how to tell him that it wasn't true.</p><p>Between the two of us, he was the wordsmith. He was the one with eloquent verbiage, the one who could create a witty response or perfectly crafted thought in seconds flat. I spoke in pictures.</p><p>So, perhaps, I'd create a picture with words.</p><p>A story.</p><p>I looked to the clock. Three in the morning.</p><p>He'd taken Echo Hall from his home to Nadir's at three in the morning because he, the Angel of Death, the royal executioner with the face of decay, was scared.</p><p>And, in being scared, he'd come to seek comfort from me.</p><p>I drew in a deep breath and patted the area of the bed directly to my right. He hesitated only half a moment before taking a seat where my hand had been. He gazed at me expectantly.</p><p>Feeling as though my face were only slightly red, I cleared my throat, hoping this idea didn't flat and make me look a fool. So, to combat my own nerves, I held out my hand palm-up. Slowly, Erik took it, placing his fingers gingerly on mine.</p><p>"Once upon a time," I started, "there was a prince named Eric. With a C."</p><p>His lower lip stretched into a smile.</p><p>"This prince," I continued, "heard about a fearsome dragon in a faraway land and set off to kill it. But the dragon was too big, too strong, and so it trapped Prince Eric in its lair. The dragon gave the prince a choice: he could either be eaten then and there, or he could do the dragon's bidding and kill those who might seek to harm the great beast. The prince chose the latter."</p><p>Erik's smile had disappeared. He was staring at me with intrigue and terror. I swallowed, and was about to continue, when he spoke:</p><p>"Why would the prince choose that?" he whispered slowly, genuinely appearing to want my answer. My input. "Wouldn't choosing death at the dragon's hands be more noble than killing others? Does that not make the prince a villain as well?"</p><p>"No," I said, "because the people that came would have died anyway. The prince could at least ensure they were given a quick, clean death."</p><p>He looked away quickly. I interlaced my fingers through his and squeezed. He closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath, squeezing my hand in return.</p><p>"It was known throughout the land," I went on, bringing my gaze to my lap, "that the dragon liked kidnapping maidens from their home and eating them up deep within his cavernous home. One particular maiden, however, the dragon decided would be given to the prince as a gift for doing its bidding all those years. Her name was Kristine - with a K. He suggested to the prince various ways to cook her - suggesting, perhaps, to roast her over a fire, as maidens tasted best this way - but the prince didn't. Prince Eric saw how afraid she was, how lonely, and decided to be her friend instead. And for that, the maiden Kristine was grateful."</p><p>I looked up at him and was surprised and saddened greatly to see wetness in his eyes. His throat worked, but he stayed silent. I tightened my grip on his fingers, and he returned the gesture.</p><p>"The dragon grew bored one day," I said softly, running my thumb over his. At the motion, his hand started to tremble. "It decided that it would be fun for the maiden to watch the prince kill one of the many knights who came to slay the monstrous thing. And so, without a choice in the matter, she did come. And though it wasn't pretty, the maiden's feelings toward the prince didn't change - because the prince hadn't changed. He was still Eric, no matter what he was made to do. They were both the dragon's prisoners, and just as she wouldn't want to be judged harshly for allowing herself to be eaten, she didn't judge him for becoming the dragon's weapon."</p><p>A long silence, the only sound the clicking of the clock as the minutes passed. But it was a comfortable silence. As of late, I was always comfortable when Erik was near. I hoped he felt the same.</p><p>"Christine," he breathed.</p><p>I turned to him, and nearly gasped at the expression I found there. Tenderness - extreme tenderness - was in every molecule of his eyes. He'd looked at me with friendliness before, happy affection, but this was something different. This I'd never seen in his gaze. The closest I'd observed was the gentle, loving, paternal way he looked at Reza. But it was nothing compared to this.</p><p>"Yes?" I said, voice a rasp. I cleared my throat.</p><p>"Do the prince and the maiden ever escape from the dragon's lair?" he asked.</p><p>I wanted to say yes. I wanted them to have a happy ending. But the truth was, that for all my dreaming and starry-eyed tendencies, I had adopted some of my father's realist mindsets. And so I said, very slowly, "I don't know. I haven't made it that far in the story. But I hope so."</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>Erik left shortly after my story, bidding me goodnight before turning off the lamp and softly closing the door to my room.</p><p>Surprisingly, I slept fairly soundly after that.</p><p>That morning, there was no meeting between the men. I took my breakfast with Nadir and Reza. Reza was chatting happily about his dream last night that he'd met, of all things, a tiger. His favorite. I responded enthusiastically, but was often distracted by how quiet Nadir was. He would, quite often, look up at me and stare for seconds at a time. Really, he appeared as though he wanted to say something.</p><p>After breakfast, I found out what.</p><p>"Christine," he said, as Parvana escorted Reza out of the room. I was currently pushing my chair in, ready to go and draw. "Would you mind staying for a few moments longer?"</p><p>"No," I said softly, "I don't mind." I pulled the chair back out and sat, stomach now fluttering with nerves. "What is it?"</p><p>He folded his hands in front of him, eyes severe behind his spectacles. "I'm going to ask you something, and I'd like you to be honest with me."</p><p>"All right." My heart hammered.</p><p>"Do you have the desire to learn Persian?"</p><p>I blinked. I didn't know what I'd been expecting, but it wasn't that.</p><p>"It would," he continued, "be a natural thing for you to want to learn, seeing as you will be here for several months longer."</p><p>I thought about it. Learning could be useful, I suppose, but it wasn't something I was actively desiring. "If you want me to learn, then it wouldn't be so terrible-"</p><p>"No," he stopped me, narrowing his eyes, "that's not what I'm asking. I'm not offering to teach you Persian. I'm asking if you already have the desire."</p><p>"Oh," I said, "no. Why do you ask?"</p><p>"Because," he responded, "my Persian-to-French book of translations is missing."</p><p>I glanced at the doorway, picturing his study. Picturing an empty slot where a large tome should be. "Where do you think it went?"</p><p>"That's why I'm asking you, Christine."</p><p>I snapped my gaze to his. Alarm bells set off in my mind. "Wait."</p><p>"Do you have any idea where it might have gone?" he asked patiently.</p><p>"Nadir," I said steadily, a bit of fear showing in my words, "do you believe I stole from you?"</p><p>He sat up a bit straighter and watched me.</p><p>"Nadir?"</p><p>"Like I said..." He shrugged his shoulders. "It is a natural thing to want to understand the language of the country one is living in."</p><p>"I didn't take your book," I whispered. "I don't know where it went. It may have been a servant...or..."</p><p>"My servants are loyal," he said, a bit sharply now, though his face remained cool as a clear spring day. "And they cannot read. I made sure of that when I hired them, too."</p><p>"I wouldn't take your book without asking," I said, a hint of pleading in my tone now. "I promise I wouldn't. You can search my bedroom."</p><p>He stared at me, reading my expression, for a longer time than I found comfortable. At last satisfied - or dissatisfied, for that matter - he stood from his chair.</p><p>"Thank you, Christine, for your time, and your patience in my questioning. Good morning. I must be off to the palace - but, as always, do let the servants know if you need anything. Anything at all."</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>His stride was stiff as he left the table without a nod goodbye.</p><p>When Erik arrived that morning, it wasn't to teach me to sing. Instead, he spent the hour going over everything that he could think to tell me about the Khanum - everything that would be useful to me, anyway. I, myself, had started to tremble at the idea of meeting her, of having to sit next to her, and Erik took my hand as he spoke. It calmed me down immediately.</p><p>And these were the things that I did my best to memorize the rest of the day. I'd written them down on paper - but, of course, I couldn't very well bring the paper in with me when I would meet her. What I spent the day reading over and over was this:</p><p>The Khanum preferred to be called just that. Khanum. According to Erik, the word meant "Madame". I was to address her as Khanum every single time I spoke to her.</p><p>She was extremely interested in me. This I already knew, but Erik elaborated on why. The Khanum was involved heavily with the Shah's personal harem, as they were the Shah's wives, but the Garden was a separate entity that she didn't involve herself with. The girls of the Garden were ranked much, much lower than the Shah's girls - the Garden Flowers were of slave status, while the harem was essentially royalty. It wasn't until she'd learned that Erik was gifted a bride from the Garden that she became interested in me. Before this, she wouldn't have cared less about who I was and what I was like.</p><p>She fully believed that I was both frightened of Erik and completely hypnotized by him, making me a kind of submissive love-doll.</p><p>She liked to smoke hashish, as this calmed her rapidly maddening mind. Apparently, she heard voices. Constantly. And sometimes, she would talk back to them.</p><p>And so, when the clock struck seven in the evening, Erik knocked on Nadir's door to escort me from his house, into the city, and through the Golestan Palace.</p><p>I'd asked Erik quietly whether this was truly safer than using Echo Hall - as, right now, they both seemed perilous routes. Echo Hall made me want to check over my shoulder, but any potential threat in Tehran could also discover where I was being kept away. Erik informed me that because the Shah knew I was coming from Nadir's house, it would have been suspicious to use Echo Hall - for I would have seemed to portal from Nadir's living spaces to Erik's, thus potentially causing the Shah to question how, endangering Echo Hall's secrecy.</p><p>"Besides," he whispered, as Darius held Nadir's front door open for us, "the Shah believes the threat to be over. We've caught your attempted killer, and so he'd like you to now begin living in my chambers again starting tonight."</p><p>I raised my brows at him. I don't think I quite hid the soft pleasure that now lined my face. "Nadir didn't tell me that."</p><p>Erik sighed. "Nadir isn't entirely happy about it. He thinks you're a distraction for me."</p><p>"Am I?"</p><p>"Oh, yes. You are. But I welcome it. He needs not worry so much. I know what needs to be done, and done it will be."</p><p>We were flanked by guards as we were walked from Nadir's house to the palace, and continued to be completely surrounded by them as we were walked to the Khanum's living quarters. Her suite.</p><p>It looked very similar to Erik's except it was much more lavishly furnished. While Erik's couches were red, hers were silver and gold like the walls and ceiling. The tables, though black, were studded with diamonds. The chandeliers were lit with actual candles - no doubt she had servants extinguish them whenever they needed to be replaced or the wax began to drip over the sides of the holders.</p><p>In the back center of the room was one of the couches, and in the middle of the couch was the Khanum.</p><p>She was dressed in lovely pinks and purples and reds, her head wrapped from the crown of her skull to her chin, though her face remained bare. It was a beautiful face - much like the Shah's - with a sharp nose and bright brown eyes. Her lips were curled into a devilish smile as she took me in - clad in, of course, my gift-wrap outfit. On either side of her were two large men - Erik had previously informed me that she would be guarded by eunuchs - and several girls - these, he'd said, were her favorite harem girls. These girls, unlike the Garden Flowers, were modestly dressed like the Khanum. Standing to the side was another man, though he appeared much smaller than the eunuchs. He wiped at his forehead as sweat streamed down his face. It wasn't hot, so it had to be nerves.</p><p>The guards dispersed and left the room, their job of escorting us safely at last done.</p><p>Like he'd done it a thousand times, Erik removed his mask without a single flinch and held it out for a eunuch to take. The eunuchs didn't react, and the girls did their best not to, but a few of them shifted uncomfortably on their feet. I had a feeling that, though the Shah was amused by negative reactions to his face, the Khanum found it childish. She liked the macabre, and probably wanted her entourage to like it, too.</p><p>Erik didn't bow, not even his head. He stood tall and spoke to her. Like before, I assumed that it was part of an act - that he was the great Angel of Death and only bowed to Lucifer himself. The Khanum seemed to genuinely like it. A graceful, confident panther, she turned in her seat and addressed the sweating man. He bowed deeply and approached, taking post behind the couch. The Khanum spoke softly again, and the man spoke to me.</p><p>In French.</p><p>Accented, but French.</p><p>"Rose," he said, voice surprisingly high pitched, "please sit next to the Khanum."</p><p>A translator.</p><p>I wasn't planning on disobeying anything this woman asked of me, but now that she could effectively communicate, I didn't dare even consider it. I stepped forward, legs numb, and sat next to her. I stared at Erik, and his expression flashed the same emotion I felt.</p><p>I would have to be careful.</p><p>I remembered that I was supposed to be afraid of him and looked down at my bare knees.</p><p>To be true, I didn't know what was supposed to happen next. Erik was standing silently, his hands behind his back, watching the walls absently. It was in this uncomfortable silence that the Khanum at last spoke.</p><p>"How are you finding the news of living, once more, with your master?" asked the translator behind us.</p><p>I swallowed. I didn't have to pretend at fear. What, I thought, would a broken slave girl answer with?</p><p>"It matters not what I think," I whispered shakily. "All that matters is that I please my master, Khanum."</p><p>I didn't look at Erik, though I could imagine the way he'd scoff and groan at that response. When the translator brought her my words, however, she seemed pleased. She spoke again:</p><p>"It must be terribly frightening - painful - to service the Devil's son in such a way."</p><p>Oh, God, I hope she doesn't ask me for specifics.</p><p>"Khanum, my master..." I swallowed again, for my throat was dry. I still wasn't looking at her - and wouldn't unless she asked me to. "If pain and fear are what my master desires to give me, then it is what I shall receive."</p><p>She was even more pleased by that. I was doing my best to exude frightened-little-lamb energy - knees pressed together, shoulders pulled forward, hands folded in my lap, and voice barely above a whisper - and it was apparently paying off. Satisfied for now, she raised her hands as if to clap, and then slapped her lap with them, pulling forward, snarling.</p><p>I did look at her then, shocked at the sudden change.</p><p>She looked utterly angry. Eyes wild. Teeth bare. She looked to the right corner of the room and sputtered out a string of hot words, though no one was there. I remembered that she heard voices. That she was mad.</p><p>And, just as quickly, she was once again calm. No one reacted. No one acknowledged that anything was wrong at all.</p><p>As if nothing had happened, she brought her hands together and clapped five times.</p><p>A signal.</p><p>I couldn't help but be reminded of the taste-tester as a man was brought into the room by guards, in chains, fear in every quaking fiber of his body. He was placed right next to Erik. He wouldn't look at his executioner, though Erik was staring at him with intense, blazing eyes.</p><p>The Khanum spoke to me, and the translator told me what she said: "This servant was caught lying with another man."</p><p>I widened my eyes, staring at the shaking man. He couldn't have been more than Erik's age. Soft-featured with kind eyes, I felt a fire begin in my belly even despite the fear.</p><p>That was his crime? Loving someone he wasn't supposed to? He was being executed for it?</p><p>I thought of Ibrahim, of who his lover was.</p><p>If the Khanum ever found out that her own son was...</p><p>She clapped twice, and the young man gave a whimper.</p><p>At the sound, Erik's blazing eyes took on a dark quality, like a candle illuminating a vast, empty, black space. His shoulders set back, his hands became claws, and his every muscle stiffened. He set his expression into a terrible grimace. I had to remind myself of who this was, for indeed, he became frightening. Cruel.</p><p>He turned his firelit eyes to his victim.</p><p>And began.</p>
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<a name="section0029"><h2>29. The Village</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>By the time the show was done, my legs were numb and my wrists were bleeding where the rope had rubbed them raw.</p><p>Javert had just finished untying them when he pulled out his key, crammed it into the keyhole, and opened the door with astonishingly hot anger. He reached in and pulled me out by the collar, forcing me to my feet - and if he hadn't have been lifting me up like he did with his left hand, I might have fallen down from how weak my legs were from kneeling. He pulled his right hand back and hit me, hard, across the cheek; as he did, I could see the whites of his eyes from how wide they were as well as a deep flush on his face.</p><p>He'd been so pleasant, so friendly, just moments before with the last of his patrons. It was as though a switch had been flipped in his emotions.</p><p>At the impact of the hit, my mind buzzed, and so did my cheek In the moment, I didn't know what to think. I'd never been hit before - verbally, perhaps, but my mother didn't even want to touch me for punishment. And so when my cheek began to sting after the initial shock, a new sob wrenched itself free from my throat. This, combined with the last couple of torturous hours, made for a very black and blue swirl of emotions.</p><p>Disgusted, Javert let me drop to the ground, where I caught myself with my hands on my side. I continued crying where I lay.</p><p>"You're incredibly lucky that I made as much as I did tonight," snapped Javert from above. "But I'm not pleased about the family of three at the beginning. I had to refund them - they didn't get a show, and I'm not one to cheap out on my customers." He turned on his heels and went for the front door. "I'm going outside for a smoke. Stretch your legs a bit, and then it's back into the cage."</p><p>He exited.</p><p>From above me, I heard a whine. It reminded me so much of Sasha that I gasped as I looked to its source, relaxing when I remembered - and saw - Cerberus in his small prison.</p><p>Breathing shakily, I lifted my right hand to wipe at my tears, and then lifted myself to my feet, still feeling weak in the knees. I went to Cerberus's cage. All three heads stared at me as I watched him move from his belly to his forepaws in a sitting position. Sleek, black, and sharp-angled: if he'd been born ordinary, he would have been a beautiful, majestic beast. But he'd been born different. Born freakish. Like me.</p><p>Tentatively, I pressed my palm flat against the bars of his cage. "Hello, Cerberus," I whispered. "I'm Erik."</p><p>His middle head stretched forward, just as it had done before, and sniffed at my hand. The other two heads watched cautiously.</p><p>"I knew another dog," I continued, "her name was Sasha. She was beautiful - golden, curly-haired, and sweet. You would have liked her, I think, Cerberus. She was my friend." I swallowed. "Maybe we could be friends, too. You and me."</p><p>Now, all three heads were stretched forward to sniff my hand. As Left and Right sniffed, Middle retreated his head and licked his chops.</p><p>Taking a chance, I moved my fingers between the bars of the cage, keeping them still. Just as timid, Middle stretched his head out again, sniffed my fingers, and then flicked his tongue out to gently lick the tips of my digits.</p><p>The movement was so much like my own former dog that I found myself smiling. I giggled.</p><p>Cerberus's tail twitched as he watched me intently.</p><p>"Good boy," I whispered.</p><p>His tail moved left to right very subtly - but the motion was there. He licked my fingers a second time, and when I again giggled, his other two heads joined in.</p><p>Somehow - somehow - I had forgotten what had happened tonight, if only for the moment.</p><p>Maybe it would be all right.</p><p>If I could have a friend through this, maybe I could endure it - however long it lasted.</p><p>Even if it lasted forever.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>We moved on after that.</p><p>The village was small enough that nearly everyone had visited the attraction, and it was time to go to the next town over. I would have three days to build the courage to face it all over again. And again. And again. Not that it took three days to travel - rather, Javert wanted time to build up some publicity in the town before opening up.</p><p>Javert didn't speak to me. It seemed, sometimes, as though he forgot that I was there. He only addressed me to ask me if I was hungry, thirsty, needed to relieve myself.</p><p>When he wasn't looking, and I was feeling particularly sad or anxious, I would slip my fingers up through the topmost part of the bars and curl them so that the tips touched the floor of Cerberus's cage, and I would feel myself relax as a warm wetness touched my skin. I think he liked it as much as me. It was becoming a way, at least for me, to say that we understood the other was there.</p><p>It was the hour before I was to be put on display. We were now on the outskirts of a place called Rouen, and I was being taken outside to the grass to conduct my personal business, that terrible leash around my neck. I was taken back inside, unleashed, and put back into the cage. Javert was preparing to tie my wrist to the cage when I spoke.</p><p>"Master?" I breathed. The word tasted vile in my mouth, but it was what he asked me to call him.</p><p>"What?" He didn't even look at me. He was pulling the small rope tight in his hands, testing its strength.</p><p>I took a deep breath. I'd had time to think about this proposition. I knew that he was a businessman - and he'd said that tears would get me nowhere. Perhaps, then, he wanted an exchange. I had no money, but I could make him money.</p><p>"If you don't tie my wrist to the cage," I whispered, "I promise to look into the eyes of all of your patrons."</p><p>He raised a yellow eyebrow. "I like that idea. Staring at them. But you'll be looking into their eyes anyway, with your wrists bound. Hold them out."</p><p>"I can still close my eyes," I said softly, quickly. "With my wrists bound. I can close my eyes. Nothing is stopping me from doing that."</p><p>He laughed shortly. "Oh, the beating you'll surely get for disobeying should be motivation enough not to do that."</p><p>"I can make it eerie," I added then. "I can smile."</p><p>He paused. "Smile?"</p><p>"Yes." I swallowed. "I've...been told it's unpleasant to look at."</p><p>My mother had said as much. I'd attempted, on occasion, to smile at her, to try to bridge something between us, but she'd told me how frightening I looked. That I reminded her of a grinning skull.</p><p>"Show me," he said simply.</p><p>So I did. Despite my having no motivation to smile at all, I stretched my face into a face of happiness - and the effect was immediate. Javert's expression twisted into a grimace and he made a noise of revulsion.</p><p>"Lord, that is repulsive," he said. He narrowed his eyes, thinking, and then said, "I will tell you what, boy. I like a good bargain. You give me something, and I will give you something in return. Smile like that while staring at my patrons, put on a small show of horror for them, and I will keep your wrists from their bindings. Do we have a deal?"</p><p>I nodded.</p><p>And I was true to my word.</p><p>To his credit, so was Javert.</p><p>That night, every single patron who walked into Javert's caravan was greeted to my smiling face, my staring eyes. I watched as men and women blanched, looked ready to vomit, stared back at me, laughed with genuine delight. They were intrigued by Cerberus, genuinely fascinated - not scared, but morbidly interested.</p><p>But like last time, their main focus was me. Le fils d'Hades. Women did still scream, and men did still curse, but it didn't have as much of an impact on me now.</p><p>Because although I was smiling, my teeth were in truth bared.</p><p>Although I was gazing upon my onlookers, my eyes were in truth full of hatred.</p><p>In the three days that I'd had to think, I'd come to realize that it wasn't Javert who was my enemy. Javert didn't care what I looked like. He'd never even reacted the first day he'd seen me. Javert was taking advantage of culture that both despised and was fascinated by those that were unlike them.</p><p>I think perhaps I was too young to even have these thoughts. Perhaps my mind recognized things it was far too inexperienced to normally consider.</p><p>But that was my burden then, and it would be my burden the rest of my life.</p><p>I was simply too aware.</p><p>Aware of myself.</p><p>And aware of how truly terrible people were.</p><p>They hated me.</p><p>And I hated them. Humans. All of them.</p><p>I hated them so, so much.</p><p>Because if a village of a hundred cannot handle one single member being dissimilar -</p><p>Then perhaps there is something deeply, disturbingly wrong with the village.</p>
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<a name="section0030"><h2>30. The Executioner</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>The moment Erik became the Angel of Death, I chose to see the Angel and not the Death.</p><p>The Angel was the one who gave me friendship when he had it in his complete power to make my life a living Hell. The Angel was the one who ensured my constant comfort and safety when at all possible. The Angel was the one who'd come to me in the middle of the night like a frightened child because he didn't want me to see the Death.</p><p>So I wouldn't look at the Death.</p><p>Like the teapot trick, the execution lasted a surprisingly short amount of time. Ten minutes, if I could wager.</p><p>Ten minutes. All this pain and fear and grandiosity for ten minutes every few days.</p><p>No one moved as he worked. Not the man about to meet his end. Not the eunuch guards or the Shah's wives or the translator. Not even the Khanum. She sat next to me, smiling like she was a little girl watching sweet chocolate being made right in front of her.</p><p>His face still a frowning, deeply lined, dark-eyed visage of evil, hands still made taut into claws, back still straight and rigid, he went to the servant accused of sodomy and stood next to him, to his right. The servant wouldn't look at him. He stared at the ground, trembling, Adam's apple bobbing, unable to move the curly black hair that fell onto his slick forehead as his hands were bound behind him.</p><p>Erik reached out his left hand, seeming to ignore the whimper the young man emitted, and went behind his ear. When he pulled it away, a gold coin flecked with blood was pinched between his forefinger and thumb. He spoke to the Khanum in Persian, voice low and cruel, and the servant's eyes went wide at the words.</p><p>The translator transferred the sentence: "Gold to represent the greed of wanting what he should not."</p><p>He held out the gold for a eunuch to take, which one did, and passed it to the Khanum. She examined it closely in her slender hands, and so did I. I swallowed - that certainly was blood on the coin. Whose was it?</p><p>He moved his hand just below the servant's chin and snapped his fingers, and immediately the young man looked as though he were ready to gag. He leaned forward just a bit, brows stitched, and opened his mouth.</p><p>A bit of red silk ribbon peeked out of his lips.</p><p>Erik took the ribbon between his fingers and pulled. And pulled. And pulled. The servant's eyes held sheer, sparkling terror in them as he watched the silk leave his mouth, where there had assuredly not been a ribbon before. His throat made a choking noise as the last of the silk was pulled out and Erik held it in his hands, the long ribbon falling like two bloody waterfalls over the sides of his palms.</p><p>He spoke again.</p><p>"Silk to represent the perverted lust he has shown."</p><p>Perverted lust. Greed.</p><p>Perhaps I'd grown too accustomed to Ibrahim and the knowledge I held for his relationship, but I couldn't help but think that a few lines of a holy book shouldn't be worth a life. Ibrahim's love for the Prince wasn't hurting anyone - unless one counted the Shah, of course - so why, really, did anyone care?</p><p>I knew why.</p><p>It was the same reason that it wasn't allowed in France. In all of Europe. In, for all I knew, all of the world.</p><p>Because it was different. Because it was unlike the rest of us. Because people did not like what they didn't understand, what they couldn't picture for themselves.</p><p>Finally, Erik gave the Khanum the ribbon as well. He took the servant's shoulders in his hands and spun him with subtle gentleness, so that the servant was showing us his profile. He laid his palm flat on the servant's back. I saw a flicker of fear in Erik's eyes, almost as strong as the emotion in the young man's as Erik shaped his hand into a fist, putting the side of his hand between the servant's shoulder blades, as though he were about to knock.</p><p>And knock he did.</p><p>He pulled back his hand and pounded once, hard, against his back.</p><p>The servant let out a gasp of deep surprise. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, and Erik pulled back his fist.</p><p>In his hand was a bloody dagger, the weapon appearing in his hand out of thin air.</p><p>And out of the servant's back, right where his heart would be, poured a steady stream of blood.</p><p>Erik spoke.</p><p>"Finally, a knife to represent the way his greed and lust ultimately killed his lover, a man who chose to take his own life rather than face the consequences of his sins."</p><p>The young man's eyes fluttered closed. He swayed on his feet and dropped to the floor, crumpling to the red rug like a limp doll.</p><p>But though I'd watched this death - though I'd seen every bit of it, I still chose not to see the Death.</p><p>Because as Erik turned to give a eunuch the dagger, his eyes met mine, only for a moment. And in them, I saw it. A small crack in his devilish persona. A plea.</p><p>Please understand.</p><p>So though the man lay bleeding on the floor, I forced myself to see the Angel. I forced myself to understand.</p><p>And in choosing to see the Angel and not the Death, I found that I didn't even react this time. I didn't feel sick.</p><p>I focused on Erik. On who I knew him to be.</p><p>I, at least, owed him that much. I owed myself that much, too.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>The walk back to Erik's chambers was silent, save for the sound of our footsteps and the footsteps of the guards who escorted us. Every half a minute or so, I turned my gaze to him, to see if he was looking at me. He never was. He stared straight ahead, his mask back on his face.</p><p>And when we reached his room, he locked the door behind him. The sounds of the guards' footsteps faded away into the hallways beyond. I stood in the center of the room, unsure of what to do with my hands or body, the same way I had those three weeks ago.</p><p>He turned to me, then, and the expression was now unmistakable. If he'd been afraid before, he was terrified now. Stiff-bodied, eyes wide and searching, he waited for something - anything - from me.</p><p>I cleared my throat - what was there to even say?</p><p>"We..." I said softly. "We never really had our lesson today. Should...should we do that now?"</p><p>He blinked, surprise in his eyes. "That's all?"</p><p>I knew what he meant, but I had the urge to play dumb. I had the urge to simply go back to normal. "Hm?"</p><p>"That's all you have to say? After what you just saw - you simply want to know if we can have a lesson?"</p><p>I shrugged. "We missed it today."</p><p>He shook his head, taking a step closer. "Don't you want to...talk about...about..."</p><p>"Not really."</p><p>His shoulders moved up and down slowly as he watched me with great intent, trying to read something in my expression that he thought perhaps I wasn't showing. "You feel no differently toward me."</p><p>"No."</p><p>"You saw the way I looked and moved and behaved and you feel nothing."</p><p>"I mean...I don't feel nothing. I feel all right."</p><p>"You sat," he continued steadily, "next to the most frightening woman in Persia, watching me kill another human being like I was a soulless monster, and you feel all right?"</p><p>I smiled and nodded, and then paused. "Well, she was frightening. And being questioned about our relationship before the execution was unnerving. I had to pretend to be scared, too, when she asked what I thought of your performance. I think I did a good job of acting afraid - what do you think?"</p><p>Now he was staring at me as though I were mad. "Christine, I stabbed a man in the heart twenty minutes ago. How are you as calm as you are?"</p><p>"I've already seen you perform. I told you that."</p><p>"But it was different the first time."</p><p>"Because you weren't acting? It wasn't different. I know you were putting on a show. I saw through it - no offense, of course."</p><p>Silence for a moment. "None taken." He took a deep breath and exhaled it with a shudder. "Are you sure that your feelings haven't changed?"</p><p>I looked down at his skeletal hands - the same hands that drew a bloodied dagger out of the servant. The same hands, too, that I'd held as he expressed his fear of storms and emotional abandonment.</p><p>I turned my gaze back up to him. "Do you believe he deserved to die?" I asked.</p><p>His eyes searched mine as he became stiff again, and then he murmured, "None of us can choose where we will love, Christine. Of course I don't believe he should have died." He looked away. "And even if I believe he did deserve to die, it's not my place to make that decision. I told you once and I will tell you again - I don't enjoy what I do, and would stop if I felt it was the right choice. But if I stop, the deaths will continue with or without me. I have to keep going until the Shah is gone."</p><p>And I'm sure if he really wanted to, he could kill the Shah anytime, but - "Nadir will not be pleased if you take the Shah's life too quickly."</p><p>"He will not. And though I consider Nadir a friend, I don't doubt his ruthlessness. He would likely seek revenge against me as well - and being the Daroga, there's little he couldn't do to ensure I was punished."</p><p>"You think he would really punish you?" I whispered.</p><p>"I have no question that he would. I never said he was a close friend, and I never said he cared for me. Ours is a friendship of convenience and tactical measures." He stopped. "If I am honest, Christine, I do also want the Shah to suffer. I want him to experience the death we are planning for him. I simply hate the journey there. I'm not a machine. I'm not emotionless - and I think Monsieur Khan forgets that. I think, sometimes, he forgets that I am human." He smirked humorlessly. "He's not the first. It's an easy thing to forget. I cannot blame him, really."</p><p>My heart ached then, for in that moment, he looked so utterly alone. So separated from the rest of the world. I went swiftly toward him, ignoring the look of surprise that went over his eyes, his now-open mouth, and his straightened posture, and I wrapped my arms tightly around his middle. I squeezed, pressing my cheek against his chest - he was that much taller than me.</p><p>"It's not an easy thing to forget," I whispered. "It's actually rather hard. You are one of the most human people I've ever met."</p><p>His breath turned ragged, and after only a few seconds, I felt his arms wrap around me as well.</p><p>I realized, a short while later, still holding him, that he had started shaking, ever so slightly. When he spoke, his voice quivered and turned thick. "Thank you, Christine."</p><p>- - - - - - - - -</p><p>Things were the same over the next week, except they weren't.</p><p>I enjoyed, greatly, living in Erik's chambers again. We continued lessons. He knocked on my bedroom door (his study) every morning when breakfast arrived - the breakfast now, of course, having been tested before I ate it. We ate together. Spoke when he was free to.</p><p>Ayesha even started warming up to me. She rubbed on my leg one day while Erik worked in his study. Just one rub, and she wouldn't let me pet her, but it was a start.</p><p>I went to two more executions in that week. I put on a show of fear for the Khanum, but chose, again, to only focus on Erik. And when each one ended, I hugged him close and reassured him that I was fine. That we were fine. That I wasn't going anywhere. That I understood.</p><p>And those hugs changed something in him.</p><p>He smiled at me more. He looked at me more. He laughed more - genuine laughs, not ones borne of sarcasm and wit. He, periodically, would open his mouth to say something, but then close it, as if thinking better of it. He would look away, a bit of nervousness in his eyes, before moving on to the next topic.</p><p>And the best thing of all?</p><p>The embraces gave him courage to take my hand when he wanted. To push a loose curl of hair from my face. To be much more free with his touches. His small, subtle physical affections.</p><p>I looked forward to being near him because of it. I didn't want his touches to go away when he came close.</p><p>Quite simply, I liked it.</p><p>I really liked it.</p>
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<a name="section0031"><h2>31. The Barterer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>With every new month came a new town. Sometimes two new towns, depending on the number of clientele who came to look. Who came to gaze upon the face of death.</p><p>When Javert caught on that Cerberus was no longer a draw for patrons after they looked at me - and, in fact, a few people even complained that the dog was distracting from what they'd actually come to see - he began to use Cerberus as a sort of pre-show. As the crowd gathered outside of his caravan, he brought the canine with him on a leash into the darkening evening atmosphere, holding a lit candle in one hand and the leash in the other. I could hear, from my cage, the sounds of shock and delight as they looked at my new friend.</p><p>He told, in surprisingly emphatic and expressive tones, the tale of Cerberus. The three-headed hound that guarded the gates of the Underworld. He told how he's captured the beast, shrunk him down to size, and brought him back up here - just for all of the enraptured patrons to now see.</p><p>He told of how, too, he'd captured the son of Hades and brought him here as well. That the child, being the offspring of the God of Death, bore a corpse's visage. That I was, in fact, not living at all. That I'd, perhaps, been plucked straight from the River Styx itself where I'd been playing with the other children, the children who'd lost their lives too soon and floated in the river for all eternity.</p><p>I listened to all of this in a pitch black caravan, until Javert escorted his first small group into the space and placed the dim candle on the table across from the cage, casting perfect, horrible shadows across my face as I grinned my grin of loathing at them, cast my gaze of hatred upon them.</p><p>When they came, I focused on that. On how much I wished them dead. How much I wanted them to suffer the same way they'd killed Sasha. The same way they'd helped kill Marie.</p><p>There was no human in this world who cared for me, and so I wouldn't care for them. I never would. I would always, forever, hate every single one of them.</p><p>When they left, and the night was dark again, I went to that place. That place where I could find Marie around the corner, where I could find Sasha waiting just behind me. And now, of course, Cerberus was there too. The four of us were happy. At peace. Calm. Loving. And in this world, nothing could ever harm any of us. No human could ever seek us out. No one could take them away from me here. No one. No one.</p><p>But it was in the moments when my mind was too awake to daydream, when the caravan was too quiet and Javert was outside smoking - which was often - and Cerberus was asleep above me that the surprisingly worst emotion came.</p><p>Boredom.</p><p>Terrible boredom.</p><p>So I decided to do something about it</p><p>Javert sat eating at his small table, a meal of chicken. He'd thrown the fattiest, cheapest parts of the bird to Cerberus in his cage above me, where all three heads were growling lightly, arguing over who got what bits. I declined the meat - I would simply take some bread.</p><p>I nibbled on the crust as Javert read a newspaper between bites. He turned a page, and I sat up straight. I cleared my throat.</p><p>"Master," I said softly.</p><p>"Yes, boy." His eyes scanned an article before him.</p><p>"I would like," I said, "a book to read."</p><p>He lifted his gaze slowly from the page to meet me. "Would you now?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"And I would like to be rich. Ah, well." He tsked and returned to the paper. "Tough lot for both of us, isn't it?"</p><p>I'd been prepared for this answer.</p><p>"I can sing."</p><p>"Fascinating."</p><p>"I can sing for the patrons," I clarified.</p><p>He smiled and took a bite of chicken. He chewed and swallowed. "I'm not sure that people are coming just to hear you sing a little song."</p><p>"I can make it frightening. Just like my smile."</p><p>That caught his attention. He looked up again, stared for a moment, and then closed the newspaper. "This should be good."</p><p>I waited, listening as Cerberus continued growling and munching above me.</p><p>"Well?" He gestured with his hand sharply in my direction. "I'm waiting."</p><p>So I opened my mouth and sang. I chose long, low tones, incompatible notes, and pushed them together to create an eerie sound. Javert's eyes went round as his fork clattered to the plate. Even Cerberus stilled above me.</p><p>When I finished the song, Javert's lips widened into a bone-chilling smile. That charming, cruel smile that had sent shivers down my spine the first time I'd met him.</p><p>"Well, well," he purred, "you actually surprise me. For such an ugly little thing, you have quite the voice."</p><p>I didn't react. After everything I'd heard and seen from patrons, being called ugly had no effect. Just months ago, hearing those words from my mother had cut deeply, but the wound had now opened beyond repair. There was nothing intact left to slice into.</p><p>"You have yourself a deal, boy." He stood. "How many books do you want? Two? Three? Ten? You promise me that you'll sing like that to my patrons tonight and every night after, and I will buy you a new book every damn day."</p><p>I asked him for ten books - the highest amount he'd mentioned. Truthfully, I would have asked for more - but though he now seemed enthusiastic about my reading habits, I still didn't want to push my luck.</p><p>He left immediately for town, which wasn't too far away from our current spot, and returned thirty minutes later with a stack of books. He placed them down right next to my cage, asking me which one I fancied reading first. I asked for thickest one he'd purchased, and he happily handed me the bound pages, before opening Cerberus's cage to let the dog outside.</p><p>I opened the pages, feeling gleefully bitter with the knowledge I had now solidified.</p><p>Javert truly was a businessman. A barterer.</p><p>He wanted something frightening from me. I wanted dignity from him.</p><p>The way to get dignity privately was to be frightening publicly.</p><p>I settled into the book, determining it to be a translation of Shakespeare's Macbeth, and leaned back against the bars of the cage to read.</p><p>If he would only treat me with respect if I became his little monster -</p><p>Then something wicked this way comes.</p>
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<a name="section0032"><h2>32. The Awakening</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>I was awake before Erik this morning. I'd stirred to reality from a nightmare and hadn't been able to fall back asleep.</p><p>After all of the deaths I'd seen Erik perform this past week, one would assume that I would have dreamed of that. Or, perhaps, that I would have dreamed of the Khanum snapping at thin air, at inaudible, invisible people that only she could hear and see. But this wasn't what had frightened me awake.</p><p>Instead, the image of that dead Echo appeared once again in my mind.</p><p>Within my dreams, I walked through Echo Hall alone. I needed to find Erik's chambers, but the further I walked, the more lost I became. Every so often, I would turn a corner to see a body lying bloody on the floor. At first, they were bodies I didn't know. But then the faces became familiar. Mitra. Nazneen and Parvana. Reza. Amir. Ibrahim. The Khanum. Nadir. The Shah.</p><p>Erik. I started to panic, breathing quick even in my sleep..</p><p>Me.</p><p>My eyes, still and deep blue as topaz, were staring at the ceiling, my mouth agape, a pool of red liquid growing larger underneath me.</p><p>Footsteps growing quicker and louder behind me. But I didn't want to turn around. I wouldn't, even as I looked up and saw that I'd reached a dead end, although the space before me had previously been a continuation of a long corridor.</p><p>Not knowing what to do, lost and alone and trapped, I opened my mouth to call out for help.</p><p>I bolted awake instead, quite literally finding myself upright before I knew I'd been asleep, cold liquid on the back of my neck.</p><p>Eyes burning with the image of myself dead on the ground, of Erik and Reza and everyone else I'd met here in Persia bleeding and gone, I peeled the blanket off of me. It was still dark beyond the windows, but I was no longer tired. I wasn't sure if I was exactly rested, but I didn't want to go back to the place where dreams exist.</p><p>I stood and made my way through the darkened room into the parlor beyond. It was dark here too, but I quick flick of the table lamp illuminated the space enough for me to see the clock show the time: five-twenty-two. I sat on the couch that faced Erik's bedroom, picked up some of the paper that I'd left there last night, and began to draw.</p><p>But I didn't draw what I'd seen in my dream. Not this time. I'd tried putting to paper the image of the dead Echo once, and it really hadn't worked too well, so I would do the opposite. I would draw something calming.</p><p>I picked the first thing that came to mind: Erik, sitting where he usually sat across from me, right ankle resting on his left knee, drinking a steaming cup of coffee as he smirked at some inner thought he'd just had. A thought that, when asked to share, he would simply shake his head about and express the utter unimportance of it, before changing the subject.</p><p>That's what I would draw.</p><p>I set to work on the picture. I took care to get his angled right - I remembered his thinness, the length of his body that was so unlike other human subjects. As I drew, though, I appreciated his form. I found myself having to focus greatly on not making his waist too wide, or his arms too short. It was a challenge. And when I drew his correct proportions, I would look down and find that, actually, they didn't strike me as abnormal at all.</p><p>They struck me as beautiful. Something about them was captivating.</p><p>And, in truth, he was captivating too.</p><p>I think, perhaps, I found him beautiful. Not despite his physicality, but for it. It, and his mind, his personality, his voice, his soul.</p><p>I didn't fight the thought, though I knew the Christine I'd been a month ago, scared and shivering, plucked fresh from the Garden, would have blanched at the idea of finding the man known as the Angel of Death anything but horrifying.</p><p>Now I felt supremely at home in his presence. I craved it, in fact. The change in my feelings from then to now was welcome.</p><p>My drawing was nearly complete - at this point, I was only missing background details - when the sun was now shining low on the horizon. Erik's door creaked open. He was fully dressed in the outfit I'd seen him in the first day - reds and golds. He looked at me and smiled.</p><p>"So you are awake. I thought I could hear your pen scratching on paper."</p><p>I smiled brightly in return. "Good morning."</p><p>"Good morning." He hadn't glanced down at the drawing yet before he declared, "I am going to bathe for a bit. Breakfast should be here within the hour. If they knock, don't open the door. They can wait outside my chambers for me to answer."</p><p>I nodded. "Yes. All right." Of course that was best. He still didn't trust anyone, and frankly, neither did I.</p><p>As I listened to the door of the bathing room close behind behind him, to the sound of the tub filling with water, I continued the background. But I didn't draw him in his chambers. I didn't draw him in Nadir's dining room.</p><p>I drew him at home. My home. My apartment in Paris. On a chair in the sitting room, the painting of a man crossing the French countryside hanging on the wall behind him. I didn't put as much detail into the background - they held the shady simplicity of a quick sketch - but it definitely resembled the place I missed every single day.</p><p>My favorite person in my favorite place, and I -</p><p>I stopped mid-stroke of the pen. Favorite person. Was he really my favorite person? Really, my father should be my favorite, but perhaps he was in a category of his own. He was my father, after all. Outside of him, though... Yes, I suppose. Erik was my the one that I most liked and thought of.</p><p>The door of the bathing room opened again. He emerged, black hair damp and smelling again of pine, as he went to sit on the arm of the couch, right next to me. As I turned my attention back to the drawing as his eyes did the same, I felt rather than saw him stiffen. I flushed - but I wouldn't rush to hide the drawing. Not now. Somehow, that would make this situation more uncomfortable. I would, instead, own up to what I'd been doing.</p><p>Silence for a moment as I added finishing touches, then he spoke: "What are you drawing, Christine?"</p><p>"You," I said quietly.</p><p>He cleared his throat. "A bit obsessed with me?"</p><p>"No," I responded, "I just like drawing good subjects."</p><p>"Ah, yes," he drawled, though that stiffness remained, "and I do see that you've managed to capture my extreme beauty."</p><p>His voice was absolutely dripping with sarcasm - and I knew him well enough by now to recognize that he was being intentionally cocky. He was expressing one extreme because he firmly believed in the other. While his words said beautiful, I knew he was simply preemptively defensive of the fact that he found himself ugly.</p><p>So I turned to him, met his gaze, and said with complete earnestness, "Yes. I did."</p><p>His breath hitched as he looked back at me and blinked. He looked away quickly after a moment and hurried to the seat across from me, sitting as though he'd forgotten how to sit - upper body pulled forward, hands on his knees, very different from his usual cool and calm position.</p><p>He cleared his throat. "Anyway. The party. The one hosted by Ibrahim."</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"It's tonight."</p><p>"I know." I looked back down at the drawing, at my hand clutching the pen. "Do you have to perform at it?"</p><p>"I do," he said, "mask off, magic...the entire package. No death, though, thankfully. Mere magical entertainment tonight."</p><p>I nodded and looked back up. "How do you feel about it?"</p><p>He shrugged. "It's that or the palace prison, I suppose. I can't say no, as Nadir so kindly reminded me. You remember, don't you?"</p><p>"That didn't answer my question, Erik," I said softly. "Yes, you have to, but how do you feel?"</p><p>He stared at me a moment longer, before finally going to his usual pose. His ankle on his knee, leaning back. Somehow seeing him like that eased me as well.</p><p>"I am not excited about it," he murmured. "I don't like having to take my mask off more than I have to. I don't mind the magic. It's the shock on people's faces that I can't stand." He paused. "When I was little, I decided that I hated all humans. I wanted them all to die."</p><p>I stared at him. "What changed?"</p><p>He smirked. "How do you know it changed?"</p><p>"You tell me all the time you don't like killing people. It stands to reason that you no longer hate all humans. I'm human and you don't hate me."</p><p>His smirk faded. "You're right." He looked away. "I was taught later that my hatred was actually care in disguise - that the reason their hatred hurt so much was because I wanted them to not hate me. I wanted them to see me as like them, and they didn't. That very few humans actually seek to harm others, and that the only ones I should dislike are those who have proven themselves truly malicious. That most people are simply misguided, and that rather than hate them, I should feel pity for their ignorance. It took a long time to learn, a lot of resistance on my part, but now that I've learned that lesson, I feel that I'm more at peace - not much more at peace, of course, but at least my mind isn't a truly constant cloud of darkness, as it had been in childhood."</p><p>"Who taught you?" I whispered. What had happened in his childhood? What kind of painful experiences had he been through?</p><p>He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "A very good man. A better man than I will ever hope to be." A long pause. "His name was Giovanni Billisi."</p><p>"Italian?"</p><p>"Yes. Venetian." Another pause. "Possa lui e la sua famiglia riposare in pace."</p><p>I raised my brows. "Do you speak Italian, too?"</p><p>He nodded.</p><p>"How many languages do you speak?"</p><p>"Fluently? Four. French, Persian, Italian, and Russian. Which languages can I read and write? Many more. I'm not sure of the exact number. More than twenty. But reading a language is different from speaking it. Speaking it requires a formal teacher or immersion. Otherwise you may not sound like you're speaking the language at all. A word can sound completely different from how it appears on paper. Take the English word knight - one would think it would be pronounced cuh-nih-gut, but that couldn't be further from the truth. Three of its letters are silent. Three."</p><p>"English is a confusing language as it is."</p><p>He laughed. "That's true. And I am sure I would butcher it if I tried to actually use my tongue to express it - despite the fact that I have a larger lexicon of the language than many English-speakers."</p><p>As I looked at him, I felt with sudden anguish how incredibly genius he was - how, due to his circumstances, he was forced to use that genius in a way he hated. He was forced to endure constant loathing and fear from others.</p><p>But for all the hatred he received, all of the jeers and constant reminders of how unlike the rest of humanity he was, he still found it within him to care about others.</p><p>And in that moment, with that realization, I knew that my feelings for him were much more than friendship. So much more.</p><p>"Erik?" I said softly.</p><p>"Yes?"</p><p>My heart hammered. I wanted to tell him how I felt, but I felt it would far too out of nowhere, and so I expressed it in other words. In actions. "I want to come to the party with you tonight."</p><p>He straightened. "You don't have to."</p><p>"I know. I want to."</p><p>"Christine-"</p><p>"Will I be safe if I go?"</p><p>He sighed. "Yes. Perhaps, more so if you choose to go than if you don't, as we will likely be guarded constantly."</p><p>"Then there you have it."</p><p>He frowned. "You will be presented as my slave, Christine, wearing your Garden outfit. You will be paraded around like a showpiece. It will be uncomfortable for you."</p><p>"Just as you will be uncomfortable doing what you are forced to do. I have a choice in going. You do not. So I will go with you."</p><p>I looked down at my drawing, and felt my heart both pound and melt when I heard him say, "Thank you, Christine. I'm very grateful for that."</p><p>I hadn't expected to feel this way. I hadn't counted on it.</p><p>But now that I did, I felt as if I saw everything with more clarity. I saw Erik with more clarity. I felt as if I'd been asleep all this time, missing a vital part of reality.</p><p>I fell in love with him the way one might fall from a bed. Unexpectedly. Without warning. Blindly, slowly, inching toward the edge until the vast expanse underneath was unknowingly reached.</p><p>Hard and sudden.</p><p>Awake at the impact.</p>
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<a name="section0033"><h2>33. The Uncanny</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>The money, I knew, was coming into Javert's pocket in the same multitudinous manner that people were coming to watch me perform.</p><p>I, of course, didn't see a single franc of that money, and I doubted I ever would.</p><p>But after several more months passed, when the weather became hot with mid-summer, when I knew my ninth birthday was probably passing me by, I attempted to push against my prison in quite a literal way.</p><p>"You're mad, boy."</p><p>Javert's eyebrows were raised in shocked amusement at what I'd just suggested. His arms were crossed as he looked down at me in my cage, my feet tucked under me. I didn't respond.</p><p>"You're mad," he continued with deliberate slowness, "if you really think I would rid of not only your cage, but Cerberus's cage, and let the two of you roam free within the caravan and the surrounding area. Mad."</p><p>"Master," I said softly, "you haven't heard my-"</p><p>"Your what? Let me guess: more skills you can barter with."</p><p>I nodded.</p><p>He laughed, and then paused. "Well? Why haven't you shown this supposed skill until now? Why have you waited? Learned it from one of those books I've bought you?"</p><p>Indeed, I had learned some skills from books. He'd picked up a couple of language books - English and Dutch - and I'd studied these until I knew the entire dictionary in both tongues. Most of the books were fictional, with biographical or philosophical text thrown in here or there. Honestly, I wasn't sure he was paying much attention to the books he bought. For all of his seeming intelligence when it came to persuasion and business, he didn't seem to be much of a reader, except when it came to morning papers.</p><p>News is what's important, boy, he'd said while I sat reading a fantasy novel. Books are a good way to escape the world, but if you want to be in sync with the here and now, read a newspaper.</p><p>I didn't want to read a newspaper. I didn't care what went on in the world. I was barely able to get through the nonfiction books (although, the language books I devoured, as I actually felt like I was learning something important).</p><p>"I knew," I said, responding to his questioning of why I'd waited until now to ask, "that you would outright reject letting me out of my cage."</p><p>He grinned. "And I won't reject it now?"</p><p>My voice was small. My heart began to beat a little faster, hope of any sort of freedom begin to dash away from me. "I had hoped, Master."</p><p>"What makes now any different from six months ago?" he questioned.</p><p>I pursed my lips, looked down, and whispered, "Because six months ago I would have run away and not cared where I went."</p><p>"And now?"</p><p>I lifted my gaze back up and dared to meet his. I told the truth. "Now I know that I have nowhere else to go."</p><p>And it really was the truth. Where could I possibly escape to where my life would be better than here? At best I would end up in yet another freakshow, where the master could be kinder but could also be crueler. At worst, I would end up starving and alone on the street, attacked at every corner for my appearance, unable to ever find work or a home or friends. I could end up freezing in the cold. I could die.</p><p>The hellish fire I currently endured was painful and relentless, but at least it was warm.</p><p>He considered this a moment. "Let's see it - whatever it is."</p><p>My back straightened. "I need to be out of the cage."</p><p>"Oh, really?"</p><p>"It's dancing," I said hastily, sensing that he'd reject my proposal then and there. "I can dance."</p><p>That is, I'd learned to dance by practicing in my cage. In one of the novels I'd read - which was, by now, long gone, as Javert sold and traded the already-read books for new ones - there was a dancing puppet with sharp and unnatural movements who scared its onlookers. I tried imitating the description of those movements. I practiced every night until I was scaring myself.</p><p>His lips twitched. "I'd make some joke about ballerina skeleton boys, but you surprised me the last time, and pleasantly, so fine. I'll bite." He pulled his keys from his pocket and leaned down. "Mark my words, though, boy. You attempt to run - now or going forward - and you'll spend the rest of your life slowly forgetting the color of the sky. Do I make myself clear?"</p><p>I nodded. "Perfectly, Master."</p><p>He unlocked the cage, and I made my way out. Cerberus was watching us, nose twitching, in his cage. Hopefully, if I was successful, neither of us would have to live behind bars.</p><p>"Show me," Javert said, crossing his arms. "I'm waiting with bated breath."</p><p>I didn't hesitate. I smiled at him, as I did with my patrons. I sang as well. He didn't react this time - he'd seen it far too many times for it to have an effect. But this time, I began moving my arms and wrists, rolling my neck, curving my spine, and bending my knees in the most subtle of ways or the most exaggerated of ways.</p><p>I danced in the most frighteningly uncanny manner, that I could. I danced for only a few minutes, for the length of the song. But by the end of it, Javert was laughing.</p><p>Not laughing at me.</p><p>No.</p><p>Laughing with glee.</p><p>Laughing with the knowledge that he was about to make even more of a fortune than he was currently raking in.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>Three days later, the cages were gone.</p><p>I had a cot placed in the exact same location that my cage had been, and a blanket was on the floor at the foot of the bed for Cerberus to sleep in.</p><p>He informed me that things would proceed this way under two circumstances:</p><p>One: I was to become Cerberus's caretaker if I was to insist that he lives outside of his cage. I was in charge of feeding him and relieving him. Should I shirk on my duties, Cerberus would be back in a prison.</p><p>Two: Should I attempt to run, it would be extremely easy to track me, his "ward", down - a boy with the face of death. And if I did decide to run, I'd better run fast, because Javert would make me wish I'd never asked to leave my cage in the first place.</p><p>He didn't need to worry. I had no reason to go anywhere.</p><p>Honestly, something about performing outside of the cage was...exhilarating. Now, for performances, rather than sit inside a cage, I stood at the very back of the caravan and smiled, sang, and did my dance from Hell. I had a sort of freedom, and the knowledge that my "guests" had no barrier between myself and them gave me a malicious sort of satisfaction. I liked the fear on their faces. I liked seeing them feel uncomfortable. All of these heartless, cruel people, frightened of me...it filled me with black joy.</p><p>For the distinct horror of watching a singing, dancing, smiling skeleton boy, being in close quarters with such an abomination, in a tight space with only a dim candle to light the room - Javert began admitting only two at a time, while charging twice the amount. Four times the going rate than before.</p><p>As I said, I never saw a single franc.</p><p>But I didn't care.</p><p>What was I going to do with money, anyway?</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>I'd been performing in my updated performance for a week when I found that, one night, I couldn't go to sleep.</p><p>A bed. I was sleeping in a bed again. And there was a dog sleeping just below me.</p><p>Something about it brought me back to my life as it had been half a year ago. Marie in the bed across the room from me. Sasha sleeping somewhere between us. My mother far enough away in the house to forget that she was there entirely.</p><p>Peace. Love. Home.</p><p>My throat tightened. My eyes pricked.</p><p>I opened my mouth to breathe in, to calm myself, but my breath shook in my windpipe.</p><p>I exhaled too sharply. And inhaled too sharply. An exhaled too sharply again.</p><p>Oh, God, if I woke Javert with my crying, I would never -</p><p>A sudden weight at the foot of the cot. On my feet and legs.</p><p>I gasped silently and looked down my body at the large, black mass that now sat there. A three-headed mass.</p><p>"Cerberus," I breathed.</p><p>The dog lowered himself to his belly, putting his front paws on my stomach, and rested his three heads against my chest.</p><p>The weight was heavy, but surprisingly welcome. Extremely welcome. I was calm immediately.</p><p>I shifted my legs so that they were on either side of him. One of his heads growled lightly, not in a menacing way, but rather as if to say "stop moving, damn it, I was comfortable - who cares if you weren't".</p><p>I smiled. I brought my hands to rest on Left and Right, whose eyes closed and seemed to sleep, while Middle kept his eyes opened. He stared at me, as I stared at him. Even in the darkness, I could see his eyes trained on me intently.</p><p>"I read about you, Cerberus," I whispered to Middle. "I read the myths. The monster who guards the gates of the Underworld, just as Javert said."</p><p>Middle sighed through his nose.</p><p>"But you're no monster," I said. "You're not. And maybe I'm not either. It's them. It's people. They're the monsters. It's hard, Cerberus, living in a world of monsters. But if we can just keep holding on to one another, it won't be so bad."</p><p>One of Middle's ears twitched.</p><p>"I know you've never had a friend." My hands continued stroking Left's and Right's heads. "I know you've only ever had Javert. But I've had friends before. So I know how to be a friend. I can be a friend for you. I will be a great friend, Cerberus, I promise."</p><p>Middle closed his eyes.</p><p>"I promise," I breathed, "not to let anything bad happen to you."</p><p>I closed my eyes too.</p><p>"Ever."</p>
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<a name="section0034"><h2>34. The Party</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>A knock sounded at the door a little while after breakfast.</p><p>We'd not yet started lessons, and I was actively waiting for them. The past week, they'd been happening in the early afternoon. When the knock sounded, I became excited. Erik would come out for at least a few moments from his cave of work. I put my pen down on the half-finished sketch of a large forest of oak trees, and gave Ayesha (who was currently curled up next to me) a single stroke down her back. I didn't dare touch her more than that, but at the contact, her paws flexed and curled. I could have sworn I heard a singular purr.</p><p>The study door opened, and though his eyes appeared tired when he came out of the room, his eyes softened when he saw me.</p><p>"You have a guest," I said.</p><p>"So it seems," he replied, ran a bony hand through his black hair, and went to the chamber door. "Perhaps," he mused as he walked, "we're in luck and it's merely a talking raven."</p><p>"'Tis some visitor tapping at your chamber door," I quoted. "Only this and nothing more."</p><p>He grinned widely as his eyes glinted at me before opening the door.</p><p>It wasn't a raven. It was Ibrahim, smiling widely.</p><p>"My friend!" he exclaimed. He saw me behind Erik and corrected: "Friends!"</p><p>"Ibrahim," said Erik, letting him enter and closing the door behind him. "Say 'Nevermore'."</p><p>Ibrahim raised a manicured brow. "Nevermore."</p><p>"Good." Erik nodded. "Now put a papier-mache beak over your nose and stick some black feathers in your hair, mocking us with your beady little eyes as we scream out, grieving for our lost Lenore."</p><p>I stifled a giggle. Erik saw the twitch in my lips and the slight movement out of the corner of his vision, and his mismatched eyes became light with pleasure.</p><p>"What," said Ibrahim, looking between us with bewildered eyes, "in Allah's good name are you two talking about? Is this some strange French tradition?"</p><p>"Yes," said Erik.</p><p>"Absolutely," I added.</p><p>Ibrahim, though still clearly confused, smiled. "Well, I am not French, so I am lucky that I do not have to partake." He took a seat on the couch next to me, with Ayesha between us. She opened her eyes slightly, saw him, and her purrs intensified. "I wanted to get away from the Shah, and I also wanted to see you both. I figured coming here was a good way to murder some birds with a rock."</p><p>Silence, in which Erik's stared at the Grand Vizier in puzzlement, crossing his arms and tilting his head to the side. My emotions matched his eyes exactly. Realization then dawned on me.</p><p>"Ibrahim, do you mean 'kill two birds with one stone'?" I asked.</p><p>"Is that not what I said?"</p><p>Erik snorted. "Yes, Christine, you really must pay attention." His words, though sarcastic, were gentle. He sat across from us on the other couch, setting his hands in his lap, his ankle on his knee. "You know, I never liked that phrase. 'Kill two birds with one stone'. How exactly does one kill two birds with only one stone? What supernatural aiming abilities is this bird-killer possessed with?"</p><p>"It's merely a turn of phrase," I said, but my lips spread into a grin.</p><p>"A stupid one, if you ask me." His eyes narrowed in genuine thought. "Are the birds close together? Is this an abnormally large rock? Is the stone ricocheting between the poor animals? I really must know."</p><p>"I am quite excited for this party tonight," said Ibrahim, leaning back, apparently bored with Erik's musings. I wasn't, but though I knew Ibrahim meant me no harm, I still didn't dare contradict the Grand Vizier. He looked at me, and his eyes twinkled. "I know that you know me as the calm, serene, wise, very serious right hand to the Shah, yes, Rose?"</p><p>Erik rolled his eyes. I laughed. "Oh, of course."</p><p>"Little would you know," he continued with an impish expression, "that I am also capable of letting loose my inhibitions."</p><p>"Ah yes," mused Erik profoundly, "the duality of man."</p><p>"It will be a grand party," continued Ibrahim.</p><p>"What is the party for?" I asked.</p><p>"Nothing," answered Erik. "Well, not nothing. It's because the Shah is bored. And, if I am not mistaken, because Ibrahim is bored as well."</p><p>"How likely is it," I queried Erik, "that the Khanum will decide not to come to this?"</p><p>"Very unlikely," he said. "About as unlikely as a stone bouncing off of one dead bird and immediately hitting another."</p><p>I scoffed with a short laugh. "Are you still on-"</p><p>"It makes no logical sense, Christine."</p><p>"The Shah," said Ibrahim, bringing the conversation once again to himself, "has been following me around like a dog - no, correction, he's been making me follow him like a dog - talking my ears completely off about the party tonight. I simply had to come here. To get away, yes, but also to do what I told him I was doing. Namely, I wanted to ask what kind of magic you are planning."</p><p>"I thought I would try my hand at making sparks fly out of my fingertips," he said simply, looking down nonchalantly at one of those fingertips as they rested on his legs. My eyes widened. Did he say sparks?</p><p>"Excellent!" said Ibrahim, clapping once, eyes wide with anticipation for tonight. "I do like the sound of that. I'm sure the Shah will be pleased."</p><p>"And even better," said Erik, watching Ibrahim intently, "I am sure that once the party starts, the Shah will be out of your hands and into mine. Only a few more hours until that occurs."</p><p>I frowned. Though Erik said the words in a calm, almost joking manner, there was an undercurrent of disdain to them, of pain. I wanted to go to him, to wrap my arms around him and comfort that hurt away. But I had to quickly push those feelings aside.</p><p>Ibrahim didn't notice the subtle negative tone. He, in fact, looked tickled by the idea. "Oh, yes. That will be most beneficial to me. Perhaps we can even take it a step further and put you in a cage, just in case you are tempted to run from him tonight. As a precaution, of course." He laughed.</p><p>Erik's eyes darkened. He did not return the laugh. If anything, he looked ready to growl, to hiss, to pounce. His back straightened, his hands became sharp angles, and he stared at Ibrahim like he wanted to wrap his hands around his throat. In that moment, he reminded me of his Angel of Death persona. It seemed to me, really, that he was using all of the restraint in the world not to hurt the Grand Vizier.</p><p>Whatever it was about the suggestion of a cage, it clearly brought something dark and deep from his core.</p><p>When he spoke, it was soft and with an icy chill. "Come again?"</p><p>Ibrahim's smile was wiped away. "Erik?"</p><p>"You want to put me in a cage?"</p><p>Ibrahim blinked. "No, Erik, it was a joke."</p><p>"I'm afraid I don't get it." Erik's eyes were fiery, but he remained still. "Please do explain. I love a good joke, and I hate to miss the punchline."</p><p>Ibrahim gaped. "Erik, if I said something to cause offense-"</p><p>"Oh, no. No offense taken. Why would I ever take offense to the suggestion that I be caged like a freak? Like an animal? What could be offensive about that?"</p><p>"I am sorry, Erik."</p><p>"No, you're not." Erik looked away. "You just don't like it when people feel anything but admiration toward you. You've never been anything but charming, have you, Ibrahim? You've never experienced what it's like for people to look at you with disgust, and you don't like that I'm doing it now. So you apologize, without realizing why you're apologizing. You just want to feel comfortable again."</p><p>Ibrahim's tan skin had turned ashen as he stared wide-eyed at Erik. I was watching him too, knowing that these words were coming not from anger, not really, but from devastation.</p><p>"Well," Erik continued, "I'm not comfortable. Not with you, not right now. But no one really cares about what makes me comfortable, do they? All that matters is what I can provide for them." He paused. "Would you mind, Grand Vizier, leaving me alone, now? Or do you want to continue to use me as a way to escape the Shah? Because I think we both know it's not my company you crave, it's the distraction."</p><p>Ibrahim swallowed. "My friend, I do like your company. I simply-"</p><p>"Please leave." Erik's eyes turned back to Ibrahim, and there was blackness in his gaze. Tired blackness. "Or am I not human enough to be demanding such things as privacy?"</p><p>A long silence, in which Ibrahim stared at Erik with his lips pursed. Finally, he stood stiffly, cleared his throat, and muttered, "I am sorry for..." He sighed and looked away, toward the door. "I'm sorry."</p><p>He left.</p><p>I watched Erik, but he wouldn't look at me. Instead, he watched the table absently. "I apologize, Christine."</p><p>"For what?" I whispered.</p><p>A pause, and then a short laugh. "I don't really know."</p><p>He stood as well and went to his study.</p><p>I again was filled with that desire to go to him and comfort him, but my legs wouldn't move. Why couldn't I just do it? Just go in and tell him how I felt?</p><p>Because I was a coward.</p><p>He needed comfort but I cared more about how he might react to my feelings than how my feelings could potentially help.</p><p>I sat back against the couch and closed my eyes.</p><p>Perhaps if I counted to ten and just did it.</p><p>But even then, I couldn't seem to make myself start to count.</p><p>I opened my eyes, feeling suddenly very undeserving of Erik's friendship.</p><p>Even more undeserving of any feelings that he may or may not hold for me.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>The world turned dark, and with that darkness came the need for me to don my Garden clothes and follow Erik and the entourage of guards to the party. Apparently, it would be held in the Shah's favorite room. Mirror Hall.</p><p>My stomach churned as we walked.</p><p>I hoped to God that I would make it through this. That I wouldn't constantly picture the taste-tester lying in his own blood.</p><p>Surprisingly, upon arrival, these thoughts did not even enter into my mind. There were too many people to picture that man dead on the carpet. The table was missing from the room, and the rugs had been changed. I felt that I could not quite place exactly where the man had been. It was like a different room entirely.</p><p>The guards stayed with us, as we were escorted into the room. The chatter that had been taking place tapered off, and a hush fell.</p><p>I spotted Ibrahim, looking at Erik with maintained discomfort, surrounded by some of the men I'd seen at the dinner where Erik performed the teapot trick. Nadir was nearby, his face a mask of neutrality. Near him, the Shah turned to see what had caused the silence. Upon seeing his favorite member of court, the Shah's face broke into a smile.</p><p>He said something to Erik loudly, and a steady stream of disquiet murmurs went through the crowd. All men, I realized, with the exception of the Khanum in the corner of the room, in a plush red throne-like chair, surrounded by eunuchs. Not even the Shah's wives were here. As I watched the eyes of everyone go from Erik to me to Erik, I felt like I stuck out even more. But I refused to let that make me regret my decision. Though I acted like I cowered before Erik and the Shah - and everyone - I wouldn't do it truly. I had made my decision and I would stick to it.</p><p>I assume that the Shah asked Erik to remove his mask, for that is what he did. Stiffly, he moved his hand to his face and took the silk away, putting it in his pocket as he had for the dinner. I noted that he avoided looking at any of the mirrored walls.</p><p>Gasps and yells and curses met the reveal. Erik didn't react, not even a flinch, but I felt him turn statue-still beside me. My hand itched to take his, but instead I looked down, obedient and weak like the good little slave girl I was.</p><p>The Shah laughed jovially, and Ibrahim pretended to laugh too, but I could see what appeared to be regret in his eyes now as he looked at Erik. He clearly didn't want to upset him more than he already had.</p><p>When the reaction had finally died down, the Shah yelled something else, clapped his hands, and turned back to whatever conversation he had previously been in. Slowly, hesitantly, the crowd did the same.</p><p>"I will perform at the end of the party," he explained softly, face calm. "The Shah wants to save the best for last."</p><p>I nodded once to show that I understood.</p><p>Rather than mingle in the crowd, Erik went to the corner opposite the Khanum. Every person who'd been congregating at all close to that spot was now finding somewhere else very important to be. Four guards followed closely, and when we reached the corner, facing away from the mirror walls and toward the large windows, the guards stood spaced evenly in front of us, shielding us partially from view, protecting against any potential attacks.</p><p>I assumed that the Shah was all right with Erik not mingling - perhaps even expecting it - for he didn't seem to pay us any mind at all. We stood there for an hour, merely watching the crowd. and it became clear in that time that Erik wasn't really a guest to this party, he was an attraction. And since his attraction had not yet started, he was not yet welcome.</p><p>My heart hurt.</p><p>I was glad I was here, even if we were not talking. I didn't feel bored, or stuck. I'd always enjoyed people-watching - and besides, it was hard to be bored when a deranged leader of a powerful country, and his insane, sadistic mother, were only a few steps away.</p><p>At last, the Shah clapped and spoke again, and there was another tremble in the crowd. But this time, the tremble seemed excited. Anticipatory.</p><p>I looked at Erik. He frowned. "Garden Flowers."</p><p>I didn't quite understand at first, but then I saw them. Walking through the entrance of Mirror Hall were at least a dozen girls, with all different color shades of clothing and skin, led and trailed by eunuchs.</p><p>The moment my eyes laid on them, the moment I noticed the way the crowd of men rested eyes on them, I felt dizzy. The way they watched the girls, as though they were objects to be consumed, made me sick.</p><p>And the looks on the girls' faces.</p><p>So empty.</p><p>So lonely.</p><p>So hopeless.</p><p>No end to torment in sight. Constant abuse, constant reminders of their lack of worth. Their lack of autonomy. They would never be free, for surely even in their old age, they wouldn't be allowed back home. They wouldn't be allowed to risk the international secret of the Shah's Palace Garden.</p><p>The world spun.</p><p>That could have been me.</p><p>Erik whispered something using his voice trick but I didn't hear what it was.</p><p>That could have been me.</p><p>The girls were let loose into the crowd, each putting on a show of wanting whatever man pulled them to their side to be their companion for the evening. Nothing intimate, it seemed - it was just for the men to experience having one of the Flowers on their arm, only for the Flower to be passed along when that man was done. Or the man would be handsy, attentive, and not let the girl go.</p><p>That could have been me.</p><p>The girls would smile and laugh and use their hands on the men's arms and backs and shoulders, rubbing and stroking, but in their eyes I saw a call for help. I saw the need to run away and never come back. A prison without bars.</p><p>That could have been me.</p><p>The rest of the party passed in a blur. I know Erik tried speaking to me a few times, but my ears were ringing and I couldn't hear him. I know he was looking at me periodically. I wished I could have simply let my emotions go, but I couldn't. Not while those girls were here.</p><p>Disgust. Rage. Guilt. All of these things roiled inside my mind and wouldn't allow for anything else to enter. The thoughts pounded in my head, like a war drum signaling the chaos my emotions currently endured.</p><p>That could have been me.</p><p>That could have been me.</p><p>That could have been me.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>Erik performed in the middle of the room while I stayed behind the guards. There were sparks, I think. I wasn't sure. I felt like I was half-asleep, watching the ground and only the ground, unable to push away the picture of those Flowers caressing those men. Unable to get over how incredibly close I was to having had that life. Sick at the idea that, at one point in time, I had resigned myself to that fate. I hadn't even fought. I'd allowed it. I'd been prepared to be a Garden Flower.</p><p>I wouldn't vomit. I wouldn't. Not here. Not now.</p><p>The party ended, I presume, for Erik and the guards led me from Mirror Hall. We walked. And walked. And then we stopped. And we were, I realized, in Erik's chambers. The guards were gone. Erik took my wrist in his long fingers and brought me to sit on the couch. He sat next to me, cupped my chin in his hand, and made me look at him. He was wearing his mask again.</p><p>"Talk to me," said Erik softly, gently, kindly. His eyes matched that, though there was intense concern in them as well. "What is happening in your mind?"</p><p>I didn't mean for it to, but a tear rolled down my cheek. And when he lifted his thumb to wipe it away, watching his own finger clear the tear, I sobbed.</p><p>And he immediately took me into his arms.</p><p>I sobbed harder.</p><p>I didn't deserve this. I didn't deserve his friendship, or the safety he gave me, or the experience of falling in love. I hadn't done anything special. I was no different from any Garden Flower currently suffering all the time. I had friends. I had peace. They had none of that.</p><p>That could have been me.</p><p>Had I not been given to Erik, that could have been me. Had Erik not decided to show me kindness, that could have been me.</p><p>And it made me angry.</p><p>"Why didn't you..." I tried through tears, and hiccupped against his shoulder. He pulled me away.</p><p>"What?" he asked.</p><p>I took a deep breath and wiped at my own face. "Why didn't you just...take me that first day? It was my duty to do as you wanted. I was your plaything. I still am. Why didn't you just use me?"</p><p>His jaw dropped several centimeters. His eyes widened and his brow stitched in absolute incredulity. Revulsion. "You're not serious."</p><p>I whispered, "I am, actually."</p><p>He was shocked. He let go of me and sat back a bit. His absence against me felt cold, and I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling sudden regret.</p><p>"Because maybe," he said slowly, choosing every word carefully; his tone was frigid, "I don't want some trembling slave who is going to shrink under my touch. Maybe I don't want someone who will say yes, give verbal consent to lying in my bed, but is secretly resisting the urge to jump out the nearest window. Maybe I don't want a girl who is only intimate with me because the alternative is having her neck severed in two." If he had a nose, I think his nostrils would have been flaring. He gripped the couch cushions with ferocity, and I hugged myself tighter. "Maybe, Christine, I am tired of playing the role of the monster, and I know that if I'd led you to my sheets that night, you'd have seen me as something that belongs under the bed and not atop it. And maybe - just maybe - it's not the act of making love I crave, but the love itself."</p><p>Dizzy.</p><p>I felt dizzy.</p><p>I felt weak, and tired, and so, so dizzy.</p><p>The guilt I was already feeling was made worse by the fact that I'd just implied he'd do something cruel after weeks of kindness. It was made worse by the fact that he'd just admitted he wanted love, desperately, from me or otherwise, and I still chose to stay silent.</p><p>More tears fell from my eyes. The words poured out like the vomit I was holding in: "I could have been them."</p><p>He stared at me.</p><p>"The Flowers that were at the party," I continued shakily. My whole body was trembling. Cold and exhausted and miserable. "If I hadn't been given to you, I could have been among them. And I feel ashamed that I'm safe with you and they have to pretend that they're not dead inside."</p><p>My teeth had started to chatter. I could feel my heart beating erratically, and my breathing was rapid. Too rapid. I closed my eyes and felt the world start to slip away. It was like I'd been poisoned all over again.</p><p>I felt cold hands on either side of my face, icy fingers on my cheeks. I opened my eyes again with a gasp. Erik was looking at me with such a tender, gentle expression, that it stole the very breath from me entirely. As he looked at me like that, I felt it. That intense, world-opening love. Incredible affection and desire, like I'd never experienced. That, mixed in with the shame and anger and helplessness, caused my entire being to simply give up. To fall forward into him. He caught me, wrapping his arms around me again.</p><p>"Tell me five things you can see," he whispered.</p><p>I trembled again, moving my face so that I could see the room. "The table," I breathed. "The couch. The walls. The rug. You."</p><p>"Good," he said gently. "Three things you can feel."</p><p>"The air. My clothes. You."</p><p>"All right." He rubbed my back. I trembled again. "One good thing that happened today."</p><p>He was good.</p><p>He was my good thing.</p><p>I had to tell him.</p><p>I had to tell him how I felt.</p><p>I had to count to ten and tell him how I felt.</p><p>I held him. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.</p><p>I buried my face into his robes. Six. Seven.</p><p>My breathing increased again. Eight. Nine.</p><p>"Christine?"</p><p>I tightened my grip on him, terrified that my next words cause me to suddenly drift away from him. My throat closed, my lungs were out of air, and my heart beat so fast that I think I might have fallen to the floor any moment, but still, I managed to say it:</p><p>"I realized I love you."</p>
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<a name="section0035"><h2>35. The Rifle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: Mention of rape and suggestions of pedophilia. This chapter may get under your skin, so read with caution. I can recap if you want with the parts that do not mention these elements.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>Winter came, and with it, new ideas for my show. This time, on behalf of Javert's brilliant mind.</p><p>As of now, I was wearing everyday clothing. Poor boys' clothes. An off-white shirt and cotton pants with leather shoes. But when Javert walked into the city of Paris, in which we now were, and saw the fashionable clothing shops, he came back to the caravan carrying new attire for me.</p><p>A black suit. A matching black hat. Black gloves. Black shoes. He bought, apparently, two or three sets of the same clothes so that I could wear them going forward. It would, he said, add a little something extra to the performance. To lend even more to the appearance of a corpse, a child risen from a grave, dressed in the best clothes the poor grieving family could buy.</p><p>I didn't complain. I'd never worn a suit, but I missed the feeling of a waistcoat. I missed feeling well-dressed and put-together.</p><p>I decided to wear the suit from the moment I awoke to the minute I retired to bed. My poor boys' clothes were now reserved strictly for sleeping. It was up to me, of course, to clean my own clothes. In fact, now that I was living outside of the cage, it was up to me to do most of the basic household cleaning and cooking. I didn't mind this either. I felt, in a way, normal. It reminded me of a simpler, better time, being able to complete chores. It gave me a respite from reality, just as the books did.</p><p>One morning, while Javert was in town doing his food shopping, I was attempting to button one of my new suits as Cerberus slept on his blanket below my bed. I'd worn the other for several days, and now wanted to swap them. However, one of the buttons of the jacket was apparently not sewn on quite right, and popped completely off when I made to push it through the buttonhole.</p><p>It fell to the ground, and I watched with a leaden sensation in my stomach as it rolled, and rolled, and rolled right underneath Javert's bed.</p><p>I stood frozen, entirely unsure of what to do now. Javert had a sewing kit - Monsieur Javert Benoit, the cruel showman, surprisingly, knew how to sew, claiming that "whatever a man can learn to do himself, he should - repairing clothes is one of them". I could sew the button back on and he would never be the wiser. The trouble was getting the damned thing in the first place.</p><p>I swallowed.</p><p>If I didn't get the button, and Javert discovered that I'd not only wrecked the clothes he'd bought, but lost the button under his bed as well, I would be in for a world of hurt.</p><p>If I did attempt to retrieve the button, and he came back early, he could think I was snooping in his personal space, and I could end up with just as many bruises on my face.</p><p>I looked at the clock he kept above his bed, determining that I had a better chance of surviving if I found the thing than if I didn't, I made my way to his bed. I crouched down on quivering knees and peered under the mattress and frame. There. Right there in front of me. I reached out a hand to grab it and...</p><p>Immediately retracted my fingers with a gasp.</p><p>Just past the button was what looked like a piece of wood attached to a long tube of metal. My eyes rounded in my skull. I'd seen pictures of these. Rifles. Deadly machines. I had no idea that Javert kept one, though I supposed that I shouldn't be surprised.</p><p>Now I knew that I should absolutely hurry myself along. I swiped the button and made way for where he kept the sewing kit in one of his kitchen cabinets. I took out the thread and needle and shrugged off my jacket. As I reattached the button to the clothing, I couldn't help but imagine the barrel of the gun pointed at me.</p><p>I couldn't help, also, imagining it pointed at Javert.</p><p>With myself doing the pointing.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>"I think," said Javert one morning over his newspaper, as I made my bed; he'd just finished breakfast, Cerberus was currently eating in the kitchenette, but I declined to eat as I wasn't hungry, "that the possibility of opening a permanent show could be in order."</p><p>I turned to look at him. "Is this not permanent?" As far as I was aware, there didn't seem to be an end in sight to this attraction. I assumed, honestly, that I would end up doing it well into adulthood.</p><p>He flipped a page of his paper. "It's travelling, boy. I mean I could settle it somewhere long-term. I do say that I've earned enough money to rent a space to do so - perhaps, even, purchase the space as well."</p><p>I turned back to the bed, my face hot. I've earned, he'd said. As though he did any work in the affair other than socializing with the guests. As though I wasn't the one who disconnected further and further, night by night, from humanity with my performances.</p><p>"The question," he pondered, "is where to put the show. We don't want somewhere outrageously expensive to set up in, like Paris. But we also don't want somewhere that no one will ever travel to, like that godforsaken tiny village that you were hatched from."</p><p>Hatched. A blow, but it missed. I'd heard far worse from him and others by now.</p><p>"How old are you, again, boy? I can't remember if I asked before. You look twelve. Are you twelve?" he asked suddenly.</p><p>I turned to him. "Nine, Master."</p><p>His brows lifted. "Nine. You look a fair bit older than nine. Why, you're as tall as I am."</p><p>It was true. I was. Sometimes I thought about the fact that, in a few years, I may end up towering over him. I wondered if it would even make a difference in the power dynamics between us, or if I would always call him Master.</p><p>"Well, in that case," he said, closing his paper, "I think it's time you learned a thing or two. About becoming a man. As you are my ward and property, I think it is imperative that it should be my personal mission to educate you on sexual intimacy. It's an important topic. You'll never experience it, for certain, but it's something that every man should know about. Sit down."</p><p>I did. I had no idea, at all, what he was even talking about by sexual intimacy, though by the glinting look in his eye, I felt entirely uneasy.</p><p>And, it turned out, I was right to feel that way.</p><p>Once he began talking about it, he became obsessed with the topic.</p><p>He told me what rape was as well - making the important distinction that while one was wanted by both participants, one was not.</p><p>And he went into extensive detail about what both entailed.</p><p>I didn't want this information, but I didn't exactly have a choice in the matter. I think he liked talking about it because he saw how much it made me squirm. I think he got some kind of sick satisfaction out of invading my mental space.</p><p>The most disturbing thing was that when he talked about rape - though he posed it as something bad - he held a pleasurable glint in his eye, like he found the topic fascinating and exciting.</p><p>He told me, as well, that the only way that I'd ever experience intimacy was through rape, and when he realized that this actually did land as a blow (because it did - to hear that not only would I never experience love in adulthood, but that I would only have it through violence - stung like nothing else), he said it often. He said how wonderful intimacy was when it was consensual, how life-altering.</p><p>I tried to block it out. It didn't work.</p><p>But for all his talk of intimacy and how world-changing it was, he never seemed to look at women as though he had any desire for them. He never looked at men that way, either, for that matter.</p><p>What I found a bit strange, in fact, was that he seemed to linger his eyes around the rare children who came to the show. Girls and boys both. His expression would become a bit more interested, with raised eyebrows and tilted lips. He would attempt to make small talk with them, try to make jokes. Stand a bit too close. The parents would frown and hold on to their child a bit tighter.</p><p>It was odd.</p><p>And, for some reason, it made me uncomfortable.</p><p>I couldn't quite place why.</p>
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<a name="section0036"><h2>36. The Blessing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: mention of self-harm</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>"I realized I love you."</p><p>He turned to stone in my arms. It felt as though I were being held by a statue. Yet, as I slowly pulled myself from him, my pulse accelerating with terrible anxiety, his arms seemed pliant as they fell from around me. When I looked at his masked face, he was staring at me as though I had suddenly appeared into his chambers by magic and he'd never seen me before in his life.</p><p>I swallowed down the feeling of my heart in my throat. "Erik?"</p><p>"What did you say?" he breathed.</p><p>I blinked. "I..."</p><p>"What did you say?"</p><p>"I said..." I swallowed again, and continued in a whisper, "I said that I love you."</p><p>"Why?" he asked immediately, hoarsely.</p><p>"Why?" I repeated.</p><p>"Yes, why?" he said sharply. "Why would you say that?"</p><p>"Because I do." My heartrate didn't decelerate. "Is that...all right?" I pursed my lips. That question sounded so foolish.</p><p>He continued watching me, and the longer he did, his expression and frozen body never even twitching, I felt more and more as though I may faint. Was this a mistake? Was he angry? Had I just ruined absolutely everything?</p><p>"You don't love me," he said at last.</p><p>"What?" I felt as though I were sinking into the couch. This was not how I wanted this to go. "What do you mean?"</p><p>"You're feeling vulnerable," he answered quickly, finally turning his face away. "You're upset and lonely because you saw the Flowers at the party. You are mistaking feeling safe with me for feeling love for me."</p><p>"No, I..." I paused, wondering if it was even worth continuing, but decided that I would despite that uncertainty. "No, Erik, I realized this morning. Not just now. The Flowers have nothing to do with it. I realized it this morning when we spoke, when I felt happy and secure. I simply still...still feel that way."</p><p>His chest rose and fell steadily, and as I watched his profile, I saw his eyes close, his eyelids fluttering slightly with some strong, intense emotion. "Christine, I want your honesty."</p><p>"Yes," I whispered.</p><p>"Are you only saying this," he asked slowly, "because you know that it is something I might want to hear? Are you only saying this because you think that your love is something I might desire? In order to secure my...my protection, or the like, from returning to your fate as a Flower?" He whipped his gaze again to me, burning in his eyes. "Because I can assure you that I have no intention of putting you through that, even if the Shah would allow you back into the Garden after I returned his gift. In fact, I would appreciate it more if you didn't lie to me about your affections. I would appreciate it if you treated my emotions with respect-"</p><p>"I wouldn't," I interrupted in a raspy voice. I had to steady myself on the couch with my hands. "I wouldn't manipulate you like that. I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't lie to you in order to ensure my own comfort. I wouldn't use you like that." I felt exhausted as I continued. "I love you and I don't care if you don't believe me. I don't care if you don't love me back. Because the idea of you going another minute thinking you're unloved hurts more than my words being untrusted, more than my feelings being unrequited."</p><p>He grimaced, deeply, and his eyes shone with something heartbreaking, but I couldn't place the exact emotion. His long-fingered hands shook terribly at his sides. He seemed entirely overwhelmed.</p><p>At last, he stood with extreme slowness. He held out a quivering hand for me to take, and so I did, feeling as though the coldness of his fingers were a welcome sensation. He pulled me to my feet.</p><p>"We," he said gruffly, "are not discussing this a moment longer while we are in this godforsaken palace of death, in these godforsaken chambers where death is plotted. No. If we are to discuss this, we are going to the only truly peaceful place for us in all of Tehran."</p><p>He pulled me, then, through his parlor and into his bedroom. He opened the hidden door behind the bookshelf. I flashed a fearful expression to him, remembering the dead Echo. Remembering my dream.</p><p>He noticed my face. "Let anyone try to harm you while we are in here and mark my words, they will absolutely answer to the Angel of Death. But worry not, Christine, Nadir truly may have found the correct killer, for these halls have been quite quiet since."</p><p>Despite his reassuring words, he pulled me in front of him, wrapping his right arm across my chest, just above my breasts and below my collarbone, holding me close as we walked. In his left hand, being pulled from one of the pockets in his robes, was a stretch of rope tied into a circular end.</p><p>A lasso.</p><p>We walked through Echo Hall, my hands gripping his arm as we went. It was entirely silent, and not a soul was seen. Erik never lowered the lasso, nor did he ever let me go. Every time we turned a corner, I was terrified that we'd see...something. But it was only ever nothing. Just more long, empty hallways.</p><p>We at last arrived at Nadir's house, at the opening into his study. Erik held the trap door open for me and allowed me to enter first. I did. The room was dark; by the clock on the wall, illuminated by full-moonlight streaming into the window, it was nearing midnight. That party apparently ran quite late. Nadir was likely asleep. Likely the entire house was.</p><p>Erik followed me up and closed the door. He pocketed his lasso and went to a couch sandwiched between two bookshelves; he picked up a large maroon Afghan blanket, folding it under his arm.</p><p>I looked to the cracked open door of the room, to where the black and indigo hues of the darkened hall beyond existed. I turned back to him. "Do we have permission to be here?" I whispered.</p><p>"No." He started for the room's door.</p><p>I fell into step closely behind. "Nadir may not be pleased that-"</p><p>"Nadir," he hissed softly, turning his head to look at me, intensity in his mismatched gaze, "can cope."</p><p>I looked down and didn't say another word. I knew he wasn't trying to be domineering. Rather, I could see that his mind was reeling with tumultuous thoughts and it was affecting his gait, his expression, and his tone. I bit my lip and followed him silently through the house, up the stairs, into the hallway, up more stairs, and finally onto the roof.</p><p>The hidden oasis under the stars.</p><p>When the door to the roof was closed, he spread the blanket out in the center of the roof.</p><p>"Sit," he said.</p><p>I did as he said, feeling grateful for the warmth of the Persian air against my still-exposed skin. I hadn't yet changed from my Flower clothes.</p><p>Erik sat next to me, both of us on the blanket, watching the swaying palm trees and listening to the rustling, murmuring sounds of Tehran at midnight.</p><p>We existed like that in pregnant silence until, to my relief, he finally spoke.</p><p>"I don't understand."</p><p>I stared at the blanket below us. "What?"</p><p>"How you could..." he seemed to run out of air on the rest of the sentence. Love me, I finished for him. "Are you sure you're not lying to me? Or confused perhaps?"</p><p>"I wouldn't lie to you," I whispered, "not about this. And I'm not confused. In fact, I feel entirely clear-headed about it."</p><p>"But why?"</p><p>"Why what?" I knew what he was asking, but I wanted him to ask it. I looked at him.</p><p>He grimaced again. "Why would you love me?"</p><p>"Because you're kind and intelligent. You're funny. Why wouldn't I love you?"</p><p>He swallowed and closed his eyes. He shook his head only once, and then opened his eyes once more. They were wet. He reached up to his face and ripped off his mask. "Because of this," he choked out. He pulled the lasso from his robes. "And this." He put both on the hard floor next to him. He bared his teeth, closed his eyes and turned away. "Don't do this to me. I am a monster."</p><p>"No, you're not."</p><p>"But I look like one!" he growled. He put his palms into his eyes, pulled his knees to his chest. In that moment, I was reminded of his age. Twenty. Barely out of childhood, like me. He was so young. "I act like one. Maybe not around you. Maybe not with Nadir and Ibrahim and Reza. But I kill publicly. I have the face of death. Don't tell me you love me unless you mean it, because I can't bear the thought of thinking someone sees so far past those things that she could care for me like that, only to have it be a damned lie."</p><p>"I'm not lying. I promise." I turned to him fully. "Erik. I'm not lying. And I do see past all of that. I do. I know you might not believe me. But it is true-"</p><p>"I need you to be sure," he insisted. "Because I love you. And I can't...if you're not telling me the truth...I..."</p><p>The world stopped. Everything came to a jarring, incredulous halt. "You love me?" I breathed.</p><p>"Of course I do, Christine!" He finally brought his hands away from his eyes and looked at me with pain. "Of course I do. This shouldn't be a shock. You are a bright light in a sea of darkness. You are good. Your mind and heart are capable of such depths. How could I not love you?" His lips trembled. "I've loved you since I heard you sing. And my love has grown with every smile you've given me, with every laugh, with every ounce of empathy and artistic talent you've shown. I love you, I've loved you, with everything in me, but I was prepared to be entirely alone in that love. Never did I give a moment's consideration that you might love me in turn."</p><p>A tear rolled down his left cheek, and he grunted lowly in frustration at the tear, wiping it away swiftly.</p><p>I moved closer to him.</p><p>"I hate myself sometimes, Christine." His lips trembled again. "Do you know how I retrieved blood for that coin trick you saw? The first night with the Khaum? I cut my own wrist for it, just for the added aesthetic to the trick. But it felt good to do. I used to mutilate myself like that all the time when I was younger. I stopped. I finally stopped several years ago. But cutting my own skin like that reminded me of how good it feels to hurt myself, how satisfying it is. So forgive me if the idea of someone falling in love with me seems outlandish at best."</p><p>"Oh..." I breathed. My heart cracked open and poured a deep grief into my chest, filling it entirely. I took his hands into mine. They were too long to completely fit, but I wrapped my hands around his thin fingers. He stared down at them as I spoke. "Erik, I do love you. I do. I understand that it's difficult to believe, but I wish it wasn't. I wish you understood what I see when I look at you. That I see a beautiful soul; and, to me, because I see your soul, I also see a beautiful face."</p><p>He inhaled sharply and sobbed, closing his eyes tightly against the onslaught of emotion that overcame him. I went to my knees and wrapped my arms around his neck. He hugged my waist with an almost-crushing force. Crying against my shoulder, body shaking terribly. Years, it seemed, of crushing emotional pain finally released.</p><p>When the crying started to die down, when the shaking finally stopped, he pulled away and cupped my cheek in his hand. His face was still tear-stained, and his eyes were still full of fire. I pulled my own arms from around his neck and used my hands to wipe the remaining water from his cheeks. At the contact, his eyelids lowered and he sighed.</p><p>"If I..." he began, and breathed shakily. "It is difficult to believe, but if I can't trust you, then I can't trust anyone. Perhaps...perhaps you are lying, perhaps you are confused - no, stop," he said, when I opened my mouth to protest. "I know what you will say. That you mean what you're telling me, that you feel what you feel with absolute clarity. But you must understand that I will need some time to actually accept it as a truth. That by giving my trust to you, what an immense risk I am taking. But at this point, I want you. I want you so much, that having my heart shredded apart by you is a risk that I am willing to take. The thing that is most difficult, Christine," he added, running a thumb over my cheek. I leaned into it. "The thing that is hardest is that I know that if we go further with our relationship at all, the gamble we are taking on your death, I fear, is increasing."</p><p>"The curse," I whispered. "The one you think you have." That damned idea he had that anyone who cared about him would die.</p><p>"I don't want to lose you," he said, and another tear wet his face. "I can't lose you. And the thought of your death kills me inside. The thought of your death being caused by my love, by your love for me...it fills me with the most terrible dread, Christine. I don't want to lose you."</p><p>I watched as more tears fell.</p><p>"I promise I will never let harm come to you," he said in a trembling voice. "As much as I can, I will ensure that you are safe. But if fate makes a decision, there is nothing I can do against that. I just..." He moved his face forward, so that his forehead was touching mine. "I can't lose you, Christine. I love you so much and I can't. I can't." He shook his head even as it touched mine.</p><p>I remembered, then, as I looked at him, at the darkness inside of him, that the only way to fight the dark was with the light. The opposite of the dark. So perhaps, the only way to fight a curse was with the opposite of a curse.</p><p>"If you feel that you are cursed, Erik," I said softly, "then perhaps I could bless you."</p><p>His head retreated and he stared at me as though I had suddenly grown a third ear. "Bless me?"</p><p>I nodded.</p><p>He actually smiled slightly. "Well, Father Christine, I had no idea you were capable of such things."</p><p>I smiled back. "Really. I mean it. Who cursed you, Erik?"</p><p>His smile faded. "I don't know."</p><p>"Do you think God did it?"</p><p>"I don't believe in God."</p><p>"I do."</p><p>"I don't."</p><p>"But you believe in curses?"</p><p>He looked away.</p><p>"What harm can it do?" I asked. "If your curse came from God, then we can ask God to take it away. And if it came from nowhere, then can't a blessing come from nowhere, too?"</p><p>A long pause, and then he repeated in a breath, looking at me, "What harm can it do?"</p><p>I took his hands in mine again and looked up toward the heavens. I had no idea, at all, how to bless someone. But I could certainly try. "Lord above, or the universe, or nothing at all, if you can hear me..." I started, "please look over Erik and allow him the love he deserves. Please break whatever curse was placed upon him." I squeezed his hands as I continued looking up, and I felt him squeeze my hands in return. "Please allow him a happy ending. Amen."</p><p>I looked at him again, and he wasn't smiling. However, in his eyes were incredible adoration.</p><p>"There," I said, and smiled slightly. "Now you've been blessed. Now your curse is lifted."</p><p>His grip on my hands tightened comfortingly. "I am not sure if I fully believe that this blessing will work, but perhaps it's the excuse I need to be willing to overcome my fear of losing you." He sighed. "Because, Christine, now that I have heard those words from you - I love you - I am not sure that I could take the idea of returning to mere friends, curse or no curse. I've told you before that I think myself selfish for that. I still think I'm selfish. Selfish for choosing your love over your life."</p><p>"You're not selfish," I said. "It's not selfish to want love." And there's no curse, Erik. You're not cursed.</p><p>"It's selfish to choose what I want over what's best for you."</p><p>"Let me choose what's best for me."</p><p>He stared at me, frozen.</p><p>"Please," I said, "let me choose what's best for my own well-being. Say that this curse is real, that there's a risk I could die just from caring for you. What if I say I don't care? What if I say that that is a risk I am willing to take? Would it be selfish to choose to accept my love, then? Or would it simply be what we both want, an informed decision on both of our parts?"</p><p>"I would say," he said, "that we would both be selfish. And impulsive."</p><p>"Then let's be selfish and impulsive," I said. "I want to be selfish and impulsive. I need to be selfish and impulsive. I want to love you, consequences be damned."</p><p>He swallowed, cupping my face with his hands again. I melted into his touch. "I want to give you what you want," he said softly. "I want to give myself what I want. But I'm scared."</p><p>"And I will be here for you when you feel frightened and alone," I responded, placing my hands over his. He seemed to melt, too. "I will be here to reassure you that I am here, and that I am not going anywhere."</p><p>We stayed that way for a while, touching one another in this simple, caring, close way. I felt that I could have stayed that way forever.</p><p>"If you really do love me, and I love you," he said then, "I want you to know one thing. And I want you to know it for certain."</p><p>"What's that?"</p><p>He stared into me. "You never have to do anything that you do not want to do. Not with me. I will never force anything onto you. I will never coerce you. I will never intentionally make you feel as though I hold power over you. You are my equal. You are not my slave. You are not my property. I am not your master. Never, Christine, do anything with me that you do not willingly want to do. Do you understand?"</p><p>I did understand. I understood that, by choosing him, I was choosing someone who genuinely wanted me to be happy. I was choosing someone who was putting me first. I would do the same. I would make him happy. I would put him first.</p><p>"I understand," I said, and leaned forward to kiss him.</p><p>To be clear, should he have pulled away, I would have stopped the kiss. He'd just expressed that my bodily autonomy was important to him. His autonomy was important to me as well. So should he have rejected my advance, I would have stopped immediately.</p><p>But he didn't reject it.</p><p>The moment my lips touched his, he froze for only a moment. He drew a sharp intake of breath. But like a thing electrified, after a moment's shock, he came completely alive. One hand went to the back of my head, and the other found my bare back. I wrapped my arms again around his neck and deepened the kiss.</p><p>When I did, he pulled away. I allowed him to. When I saw his expression, my heart sank. Crying. He was crying. Silent, fat tears down his face.</p><p>"Erik?"</p><p>"I'm sorry," he said shakily. "I'm sorry."</p><p>"No, don't." My fingers played with the collar of his robes. "Don't apologize. It's all right"</p><p>"I love you so much." He took a strand of my curls into his long fingers and played with them affectionately. "This...is more than I ever thought I would ever have. I'm sorry that I am having trouble keeping my composure. I'm usually more...together." He laughed nervously.</p><p>"I know." I smiled and wiped the tears away. He closed his eyes and relaxed at the touch. "But I think I like you just as much when you're not."</p><p>Erik's eyes opened softened exponentially. He pulled me to him and kissed me softly. I fell into him, and he fell entirely. We lowered onto the blanket, lying side by side, with one hand under my head and the other at my hip.</p><p>This time, he deepened the kiss.</p><p>And we lay there, blanketed by stars and darkness, by soft muted city sounds, as we lost ourselves into each other. We forgot where we were and who we were. All that mattered was the person wrapped in our arms.</p>
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<a name="section0037"><h2>37. The Gentleman</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: depictions of self-harm</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>The summer that I turned ten, we had travelled the country and ended up back in Paris. The outskirts of Paris, rather. But I could see the lights of the city, the scape of it, from the caravan.</p><p>The show would begin in one hour, and I was, as usual, tasked with relieving Cerberus. I loved the task. I looked forward to it. I didn't use a leash when I took him outside. I had at first, but now Cerberus never left my side. And I refused to put anymore chains on him than were absolutely necessary.</p><p>Of course, when Javert watched, the leash stayed on.</p><p>As time went by, I noticed that each of Cerberus's heads had a personality. Left was more likely to growl and bark. Right was constantly smiling, his tongue out, panting, or licking my hands. Middle, however, was silent. Middle watched me intently. He was fascinated by me, sometimes never taking his eyes off of me. And, if I wasn't mistaken, Middle was the one of the three heads who actually was capable of hatred. Though Left growled, he never did so with Javert (only with me for not petting him quite long enough). When Javert was near, Left cowered along with Right.</p><p>But Middle.</p><p>Middle actually seemed to glare at, to hate, Javert.</p><p>Sometimes he seemed intelligent. Too intelligent. Too aware of what was going on.</p><p>He was rapidly becoming my favorite of the three.</p><p>A high-pitched whistle from the direction of the caravan. My jaw tightened and I patted the side of my leg, signaling Cerberus. That whistle was Javert's warning that we had better return soon or he'd assume we were running and stealing his property. Us. We were his property. Taking autonomy over our own lives was stealing from him.</p><p>"Come, Cerberus," I whispered. He fell into step beside me, and we made our way back to the caravan.</p><p>An hour later, a large group of people waited outside the caravan. Now that the groups were extremely large like this, Javert decided to take the show from inside to outside. He'd purchased a large, sturdy crate for me to stand on, so that every person there could see me. And he collected money from everyone, not allowing them to remain if they refused to pay, threatening to sic Cerberus on them if they didn't pay and didn't leave.</p><p>When the patrons set their eyes on the beast, as Javert walked through the crowd with the dog at his side, it was an extremely effective threat.</p><p>The moment he finished the pre-show, his tale of Hades's son and dog existing right here in Paris, Javert announced my arrival.</p><p>Like the good little performer that I was, I left the caravan and walked out.</p><p>This time, however, I had a mask. A black mask to match my black suit. He'd decided to add it to the show (but I was only to wear it for the show).</p><p>I stepped out to a silent crowd and climbed onto the crate. I began to sing.</p><p>The melody grew more and more uncanny, jarring notes and unnatural inflections in my voice. When the crowd was sufficiently uncomfortable, squirming and murmuring where they stood, I stopped. I eyed Javert off to the side, between the crowd and caravan, as he smiled widely in anticipation, eyes glinting with excitement.</p><p>And I took the mask off, flinging it high into the air so that it landed on the grass below, black leather shining in the full moonlight above. I continued singing, now also dancing, upon the crate, in the frightening way I'd taught myself to.</p><p>I accepted the screams and sounds of disgust as I always had. I accepted the way people turned away and looked near to vomiting as they did. I accepted the ripple of the crowd as mothers pushed through to lead their children away from the creature before them.</p><p>What I had never thought to imagine was the reaction one particular gentleman had.</p><p>"Stop!" a man cried out, his accent strange. "Stop this!"</p><p>I faltered, stopping my dancing and singing, blinking. I saw him, moving toward the front - a man with blue eyes and blond hair like Javert, but infinitely more handsome. He looked to be in his thirties. His face was kind behind the anger he held in his expression.</p><p>I looked to Javert, and he widened his eyes, warning me to continue. I looked to the crowd again, who were now murmuring amongst themselves, and started again.</p><p>"I said stop!" The gentleman stepped to the front and made his way to Javert. "This is cruel. This is cruel."</p><p>I did stop now, fully. My heart was beating quickly. Who was this person? Why did he care? I couldn't keep my eyes off of him. Why did he care? No one ever cared.</p><p>I was so confused. Jarred.</p><p>Javert didn't seem to care, now, that I'd stopped a second time. Cerberus's haunches bristled slightly as the gentleman approached.</p><p>My master smiled, poisoned honey in his expression. "Monsieur," he said through his teeth. "You are interrupting the experience for my other guests. Are you aware that this performance does not revolve around you?"</p><p>"I am aware," he said again. What was that accent? "I am also aware that this child is being shown off like some freak pony in a circus. Do you not see the pain in that boy's eyes? I do. He does not want to be doing this, and you know that."</p><p>Javert's smile only widened, despite the fact that the edges of the crowd seemed to be shrinking as people walked away from what was rapidly becoming an uncomfortable scene. A more uncomfortable scene, that is.</p><p>"What," purred my master, "is your name, my good Monsieur?"</p><p>The gentleman crossed his arms over his chest. "I won't say." He paused. "I dread to hear my name spoken by your vile, false-silver tongue."</p><p>"And why, Monsieur..." drawled Javert, speaking with spine-tingling slowness; I knew that the only reason he wasn't currently commanding Cerberus to attack was to save face in front of the rest of his audience - violence against paying customers is quite bad for business, "would you choose to come to my show if your only intention is to complain about it?"</p><p>"To see if the rumors were true," he answered back. "To see if there was really such a cruelty in my city. And I see that it is true - to my dismay. You are a shame to the good French people I have grown to admire."</p><p>"I thought I detected an accent, Monsieur. Where, precisely, are you from?"</p><p>"Sweden."</p><p>"I see," he said, slowly, caressing the word. "Wait. I know you. That Scandinavian musician, yes?"</p><p>The gentleman stilled.</p><p>"I read abut you in the newspaper," Javert mused. "A rising celebrity in Paris. But how unusual you are, in that you refuse to make use of your celebrity status. A hermit." He chuckled. "Not so much of a hermit when it comes to hopping on your high horse, are you?" His eyes twinkled. "I hear you have a little girl at home. Is she pretty?"</p><p>The gentleman had had enough. He turned to me, then. "Child," he said in his thick accent, "say the word and I will take you away from here."</p><p>Javert laughed. By this point, half the crowd was gone, but he didn't seem to care. He'd already gotten his money. "Go anywhere near that boy," he said, "and I will set my dog on you."</p><p>"Oh, yes," said the gentleman, "excellent idea. I will take your abused dog as well." He walked away from him, toward me.</p><p>Javert's smile disappeared. "Monsieur, you take another step toward him, and I will-"</p><p>"Fight me?" The gentleman whirled on him. "Then fight me! Come, Monsieur, let's see what you can do! Or involve the authorities, perhaps? Yes, because I am sure a judge would look between us and decide to believe your greasy face should we both claim the boy, I'm sure you'd win that fight. Show me your papers for him. Proof that he is yours. An adoption form. Proof of purchase, even."</p><p>Javert merely fumed. He spat, "I don't have to show you-"</p><p>"So what else is there?" he interrupted. "Because we both know you will not set that poor dog on me - not with all of your customers watching." He glared at Javert. "Do it. Prove me wrong. Set the dog on me right now."</p><p>I widened my eyes, terrified, suddenly, for this stranger. This man was playing a dangerous gambling game, and for what? Me?</p><p>Javert only turned tomato-red, switching his gaze between the man and the audience, who watched his next move with bated breath. The gentleman turned again to me.</p><p>"Boy," he said, "what is your name?"</p><p>Silence among the crowd. And then I answered in a hoarse whisper: "Erik."</p><p>"Erik," he said, nodding kindly. "I refuse to speak my name in front of this snake of a man, but I assure you that I will tell you once we are away from this place. Would you like to come home with me?"</p><p>Come home with me.</p><p>I imagined myself walking away from here, walking away with this man. I imagined myself walking into his house, finding a softly lit parlor. A piano that I could play, perhaps. A real bed to sleep in. Never again having to dance for an audience, sing for them. Show my face to them.</p><p>But I found Javert's face. The ugly look of his grimacing rage.</p><p>And doubts flooded my mind.</p><p>What if this man was tricking me? What if he simply had yet another freak-show to show me off in? Javert mentioned that he was a musician, but what if he was more than that? What if he was crueler? What if this kindness was a mirage? Worse yet, what if this was a trick by Javert - a set-up, to test my loyalty to him? My willingness to run? What if I failed that test by accepting the stranger's offer, and ended up in a cage again for the rest of my life?</p><p>An icy knife passed through me. I couldn't go back into a cage. I couldn't. I couldn't. I couldn't.</p><p>"I'm sorry, Monsieur," I breathed, "but I am content right here. My master is..." I swallowed my disgust at the lie. "My master is kind."</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>Javert's fist hit my face with such force that I saw stars swirling against the dim light of the caravan. I staggered back, clutching my cheek. A sob of shock and pain escaped my lips. I dared to look at him, at the anger in his face.</p><p>"I almost lost my livelihood to that damn Swede, boy!"</p><p>Javert took my hair in his hand and threw me into the dining table. The edge of the table slammed into my side. I cried out and fell to the ground, clutching the area beneath my right ribcage.</p><p>"I..." I whispered shakily. "I didn't-"</p><p>"You did!" He kicked me in my stomach. I grunted in pain. This too shall pass. "You let that man feel pity for you. You let it happen."</p><p>"I chose to stay, Master." The words were small. I made myself into a ball, my body throbbing. "I chose to stay here." I breathed unevenly, closing my eyes. "Please don't put me back in a cage. I chose to stay. I won't run away. I chose to stay..."</p><p>Javert stilled above me. When I at last looked at him, I saw disgust in his eyes. "Maybe," he said, "the Swede was right to pity you. You're actually pathetic." He whirled on his heels and walked to the entrance of the caravan. "I'm going outside for a cigar. Lord knows I need one."</p><p>And as I lay there, aching, tears falling from my eyes, I thought about that man who did show pity.</p><p>But I didn't feel gratitude, like one might expect.</p><p>I felt furious.</p><p>Furious because all he'd done was cause another beating.</p><p>Furious because he'd nearly caused me to go back into that cage.</p><p>Furious because...</p><p>Because...</p><p>Because, I realized with a growling cry, it meant not all of humanity was monstrous. It meant that Marie wasn't some anomaly in her capabilities for kindness. It meant that I couldn't direct all of my hatred toward them, because not all of them were cruel.</p><p>So some of that hatred had to be directed elsewhere.</p><p>But I'd already given Javert his fair share of my loathing; so, really, there was only one place left for it to go.</p><p>At myself.</p><p>I picked myself up, gasping against the horrible pain that coursed through my side an stomach. But this time, the pain felt good. I deserved this pain. I deserved every bit of it. I was pathetic. I was disgusting. I was a creature of nightmares, and I deserved to be hurt.</p><p>I wanted, in fact, to hurt myself.</p><p>I went to Javert's sewing kit. I picked up the needle in my still-gloved hand. I went to the oil lamp and held the needle over the flame. I waited for three minutes, anticipating the feeling of more pain on my skin. Well-deserved pain.</p><p>And when the needle was hot enough to make my fingers hurt even through the glove, I pressed it against my wrist.</p><p>I bit my tongue against the terrible, burning sensation, grunting and groaning at the feeling. Every nerve in my wrist told me to take the needle away, but I just pressed it harder into me. This was, actually, pleasurable - in a way that being hurt by Javert was not. This was controlled. Under my control. Perhaps, even, one of the only things I could control in my life.</p><p>I took the needle away, marveling at the brown and white line that it left behind. I'd expected it to be red. Or pink. But no. It looked ugly. Just like me.</p><p>It made me hate myself just a little bit less - knowing that I was hurting the thing I hated.</p><p>I pushed the needle into another section of my wrist.</p><p>The pain eased a little more of the hurt.</p>
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<a name="section0038"><h2>38. The Afterglow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: mention of rape</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>Although we spent the night within each others' arms upon the roof, under the millions of stars above, our clothes never left our bodies. We never went further than small touches and kisses. Every so often, I would awaken, wanting to go further - but he looked so incredibly peaceful, eyes closed and face calm, that I was loathe to wake him. And when he did wake up, look at me, smile, and kiss me - I was reluctant then, too. If he said no, then it could ruin what we did have now. This simple sweetness that I didn't want to end. The afterglow of our confessions last night.</p><p>I was drifting out of a deep sleep when I felt Erik's arm wrap around me, his hand trailing up my bare back and into my tousled hair. I felt a soft kiss against my forehead. When my eyes fluttered open, I found his face pulling away from mine, tender adoration in his eyes. When I looked behind him, when I looked up, I saw a pale blue and yellow morning sky.</p><p>"Good morning," he whispered.</p><p>I smiled. "It is a good morning."</p><p>He smiled in return. "For a moment upon waking up," he said, "I thought last night had been a dream. But then I opened my eyes and..." He sighed, stroking my hair. "I love you." His smile grew. "It feels marvelous being able to finally say that out loud."</p><p>I put a hand on his arm. "Technically speaking..." I played with the silky sleeve of his robes. "You could have said it anytime."</p><p>"I had no idea you'd even accept those words from me, Christine."</p><p>I moved a little closer to him. "I adore those words from you. And I adore you." I leaned in to kiss him. He softened against it, intertwining his fingers into my hair.</p><p>He pulled away again, looking at the brown mass upon my head. "I love these curls." He pulled his hand away and pulled on one lock of hair. It sprang back when he let go. "They're beautiful. You are beautiful - in every iteration of the word."</p><p>I sighed, glowing inside, and closed my eyes. I felt another kiss on my forehead, and was about to open my mouth to tell him how beautiful I found him, when a sharp noise shook me from my reverie.</p><p>The roof door opened and closed with relative force.</p><p>I shot up to a sitting position, but Erik stayed where he was. He was behaving as though he were expecting this - as though he knew it was coming. And, by the closed-eyed look on his face, he was sorely disappointed about it.</p><p>Standing by the door to the roof was Nadir Khan.</p><p>The Daroga's eyes went wide at the sight of me and Erik side by side. His nostrils flared and he went entirely rigid.</p><p>"Erik," he said lowly. He was watching him with an expression of something in between rage and...and perhaps sadness. Surprise.</p><p>Erik rolled to his back, but still don't open his eyes. "Yes, Nadir, hello. Good morning."</p><p>"How long have you and Christine been up here?" Nadir's hands flexed and curled subtly. "All night?"</p><p>"Noticed the missing blanket, I presume?" Erik finally opened his eyes and stared at the sky above.</p><p>"And Nazneen said she thought she heard footsteps around midnight." His jaw became tight. "Once again, you are trespassing-"</p><p>"Then we can be out of your hair," Erik said, finally sitting up. "Our apologies." He stood and offered me his hands. Both of them. I took them and let him pull me up. "Good day, Nadir."</p><p>"I simply," said the Daroga though his teeth, "find it funny how you decide not to come here when it's expected of you, but will do everything in your power to arrive when I don't need you here. You come here while I'm retiring to bed, yet you've missed every meeting we've had since your gift was returned to you."</p><p>"My gift-" Erik whirled, his temper suddenly hot - I could feel the heat in his expression and voice. "My gift has a name. Christine. You will address her as such. Tell Ibrahim to do the same. She's not a damned rose."</p><p>Nadir ignored him. "You slept beside her last night."</p><p>Erik didn't respond.</p><p>"You told me, Erik," said the Daroga, "that I had nothing to worry about. That she wouldn't interfere with what you promised to do. But now I find that you are skipping meetings, no doubt to breakfast with her. You're laying out blankets on my rooftop to sleep next to her. Why, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were infatuated with her."</p><p>"No," said Erik, "I'm not."</p><p>"And yet-"</p><p>"Infatuation is short-lived. What I feel isn't."</p><p>It took a moment for Nadir to understand what he meant. And when he did, his eyes seemed to glass over. Become emotionless. His tension disappeared, and was replaced with something much...colder. Unkind. Sinister.</p><p>"Careful, my friend," Nadir said coolly. "Roses can be fragile. Going forward, I would keep your..." He glanced at me. "I would keep your fondness for them quiet. We don't want anyone knowing the Violet Dawn had the right idea about how to crack the infallible Angel of Death's armor, do we?"</p><p>Erik bristled. "Is that a threat, Nadir?"</p><p>"No. It is a warning." He turned, and opened the roof door. "There is breakfast downstairs should the two of you care for it. And Erik-" He looked over his shoulder at him. "Do start coming to our meetings again. I know we are not as pleasant to be around as Christine. But, if you care about her as much as you imply, I think we both know what is best for you to focus on. The goal is to send her home, is it not? For even if her father is alive, even if she has a trustworthy escort, you do understand that the Shah won't take kindly to having his gift packaged and mailed back to France. Really, think about it, now. She can't be safe until he's gone. Consider where your priorities lie, yes?"</p><p>"We can," said Erik through his teeth, "easily kill the Shah tomorrow-"</p><p>"And what about Rookheeya?" Nadir whirled, looking suddenly feral. "What about the woman I loved? Am I not entitled to recompense? Am I not entitled to watching him burn after what I saw him do to my wife? No..." He regained his stature. "No, we will do this correctly. We will do what we said we would. And if you won't put in your final piece of the puzzle, then I dare say I will place my own piece in. But for God's sake, you hold the puzzle itself, so at least build the foundations of it. Now, like I said-" He put his hands behind his back. "Breakfast is downstairs. Enjoy it. I have lost my appetite - wonder as to why - so I will see you at the palace. Good morning."</p><p>And he was gone.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>When Erik and I arrived in the dining room, he appeared entirely on edge. As if the reverie of last night, the bliss of it, was completely wiped away by Nadir's harsh words. He'd once told me how little he cares for realism. How much he likes fantasy. If he felt anything similar to the way I felt, then last night on the roof really was a fairy tale. Nadir had just forced him back to reality. He'd forced me back to reality too.</p><p>And, quite honestly, I think I was developing a distaste for realism as well.</p><p>What didn't help his unease was the fact that, at the table, was Ibrahim, finishing a plate of eggs and fruit.</p><p>Erik sat down as food was brought to us. I sat next to him. We were across from the Grand Vizier. Ibrahim looked between us, an uncomfortable frown on his face, and cleared his throat.</p><p>"Good morning, Erik." He fingered a bit of kiwi on his plate and cleared his throat again, shifting a little. I wasn't sure I'd ever seen him as nervous as he was now - save for - "Last night..."</p><p>Erik inhaled. He was again wearing his mask, having put it back on after Nadir's visit with us on the roof. "What about it?"</p><p>"I'd like to talk about it."</p><p>"And I wouldn't." Erik cut into his poached egg with his fork. "In fact, I'd rather forget about everything that occurred before the end of that damned party." He placed the egg in his mouth and chewed. I sipped at my tea.</p><p>Ibrahim's mouth thinned. He looked like a little boy who'd just thrown a ball through his neighbor's glass window and felt genuinely mortified by it. "I really didn't mean to imply-"</p><p>"I know. It was a slip of the tongue." Erik was calm. "All is forgiven. If I held a grudge against every person who insulted me, accidentally or otherwise, I would lose every single acquaintance I had. Now would you please stop looking at me like I'm about to eat you? I can guarantee I'm only interested in consuming these eggs."</p><p>I picked at my fruit, almost smiling. I had no idea if he was being so merciful because he genuinely didn't care anymore, or because the later part of the night cancelled out the discomfort of Ibrahim's words. Either way, the Grand Vizier appeared pleased. He smiled and exhaled in relief.</p><p>"Well, this is good to hear." Ibrahim stabbed at his food with more vigor now. "I was afraid you were going to find me a nuisance forever."</p><p>"I do find you a nuisance. I always have." Erik smiled in return and said the last two words as though he were speaking kind, reassuring words to child.</p><p>"And I find you dark and disturbing." Ibrahim's eyes glittered with inner laughter.</p><p>"So then we have returned to normalcy." Erik nodded. "Wonderful."</p><p>"Perhaps not quite returned to normalcy." The Grand Vizier eyed me for a moment, amused. "Nadir mentioned on his way out that you and the Rose were on the roof together, lying side by side. On one of his good Afghans, too."</p><p>I blanched and made to sip more tea. Erik lowered his fork, eyes narrowing. "And what of it?"</p><p>"Well, I must warn you, friend." Ibrahim flashed his white teeth. "Trespass on his roof to sleep with your gift again, and I suspect Nadir might turn you into a eunuch and place your manhood in a small jar as a reminder not to disrespect him."</p><p>Erik leaned back in his chair. He avoided my gaze as he asked Ibrahim something softly in Persian.</p><p>Ibrahim threw his head back and laughed. "I'm not certain that a small jar would contain you." His eyes danced as they turned to me. "Christine? Would a small jar contain him?"</p><p>I nearly choked on my tea. My face, I knew, was quite red. I excused myself momentarily, suddenly needing very much to use the bathing room. As I walked away, I heard Erik growl under his breath, a warning that they'd just regained good terms, "That was entirely unnecessary."</p><p>Ibrahim ignored the warning; he only laughed harder.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>Before leaving, we managed to catch Reza a few minutes before his Russian lessons. He couldn't talk for long, but he expressed to both of us that he missed us - my living there and Erik visiting every day. Erik and I looked at each other - and I think we both had the same thought. Perhaps visiting was in order, even if it did mean Erik had to attend those meetings he hated.</p><p>The journey through Echo Hall consisted of, once again, Erik holding out his lasso with one hand and his arm on my chest just over my breasts. Occasionally, I mentally willed his arm to go a bit lower, for his hand to travel there too, but I didn't voice it. Even if I was allowed to speak in these halls, my heart fluttered at the idea of voicing it; it fluttered so much that it drowned out the ability to speak at all.</p><p>When we arrived into his chambers, he closed the hidden bookshelf door, took my hand (not my wrist), and pulled me gently through his bedroom. I noted that he seemed to avoid looking at the bed, even as Ayesha saw him and stretched, paws out in front of her and back bent, meowing as she yawned.</p><p>When we reached the living room, he faced me, brought both of his hands to my face, and kissed me. The mask covering his upper lip felt strange on mine, but I didn't protest against it. I didn't want the kiss to end.</p><p>When he did ultimately break the contact, I sighed happily. I opened my eyes - I hadn't even realized I closed them. He was smiling down at me with extreme gentleness, eyes shining with adoration.</p><p>"If I could stay right here and kiss you the entire day," he said softly; I melted at the sound of his voice, "I would. Unfortunately, I have to work. And I fear that allowing you into the room while I do so will ensure that absolutely no work gets done."</p><p>I nodded, though disappointment coursed through me. He kissed me again and disappeared into his study - returning briefly with some paper and a pen for me - and spent the remainder of the morning with a door closed between us.</p><p>So, to pass the time, I drew. It didn't have the effect I hoped for - forgetting that Erik was merely a room away, forgetting the desire to open the door and hug him from behind - but it did aid in putting my restless mind to work.</p><p>Ayesha appeared, and the cat actually made the active choice to lie right next to me. She curled up into a ball and purred. I stoked her a few times in happy wonder, and her purrs intensified. She flexed her paws and adjusted herself so that I could better pet her stomach. To my surprise, she didn't swipe or bite when I ran my fingers through the fur of her belly.</p><p>I drew her, under a Christmas tree. I drew Erik, his mask off, face up, letting the sun hit his bare skin as his eyes closed, smiling, in the middle of Paris. I drew my father laughing at some joke, violin in one hand as he clutched his side, bending over with mirth.</p><p>And then the study door opened. I looked up from my drawing of my father when he sat down on the couch next to me. Before I could say a word, his lips were on mine. Again I felt the bit of silk against my upper lip - but this time I did say something.</p><p>"Erik?" I said, a breath away from his face.</p><p>"Christine?"</p><p>"Can you take your mask off when we kiss?"</p><p>He paused, only for a moment, and then obliged. He put the mask on the coffee table and leaned in again.</p><p>Yes. This was much better.</p><p>I liked his lips, misshapen as they were. In fact, because they were his lips, I couldn't imagine liking a normal pair any better.</p><p>And as he deepened the kiss, as he'd done last night, I felt it. I hadn't felt it before, not as strongly at least, but I did now.</p><p>I wanted him.</p><p>Wanted him.</p><p>A part of me felt ashamed for wanting the man I was trained to sleep with, but the bigger part knew that if it hadn't been for who Erik turned out to be, I wouldn't be wanting him as I did now. So, I decided, I would give myself some kindness in that department. I was only human. And it was natural to fall in love with kind, intelligent men - men who didn't force or expect or trick. It was natural for me to fall in love with someone like Erik.</p><p>"Do you..." I whispered, pulling away again. "Do you want to take a nap with me?"</p><p>His brows raised. He didn't exactly have eyebrows, per se, as the only hair that seemed to naturally occur on him was his head of hair. I wondered if his body had hair. Butterflies flitted around in my stomach at the idea of finding out.</p><p>"A nap?" he repeated.</p><p>I nodded. "I'm a bit tired after last night." I wasn't, actually. "I didn't sleep very well on the hard roof." But I slept well enough in his arms - I barely registered at times that it was a roof we were on.</p><p>He studied my face. When he spoke, his voice was even. "I'm a bit tired, too."</p><p>"You are?" I asked.</p><p>"No." He stood up and took my hands, helping me to my feet. "But a nap sounds lovely regardless."</p><p>I smiled, and let him lead me to his bedroom. Our hands separated as we both found our way onto different sides of the bed.</p><p>"Over or under the blanket?" he asked. Then he looked down at my clothes. "Under, I imagine, as you'd likely be cold. Unless you'd like to change. You're still in your Flower clothes."</p><p>I looked down at myself. So I was.</p><p>"And neither of us has bathed," he said.</p><p>I looked at him. "Do I smell?"</p><p>"No." He smiled. "Do I?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Then I supposed we can put it off until later." He patted the bed. "Under or over?"</p><p>"Under." I felt myself blush. "I don't feel like changing."</p><p>He nodded slowly and pulled back the blankets. I made my way in. So did he. I immediately made my way closer to him. He opened his arms for me to enter them, which I did, and he hugged me close.</p><p>And I felt so incredibly warm and safe, so happy, that I needed to tell him. Not just how happy I felt, but, perhaps too, how much I wanted him.</p><p>I sighed. "Erik-"</p><p>"Shh."</p><p>I looked up to his face. His eyes were both closed.</p><p>He put a finger to my lips and whispered, "It's naptime."</p><p>I giggled. He smiled.</p><p>"What is it, Christine?"</p><p>My blush returned. "I-" Want you. But I lost my nerve. I did the coward's thing: I asked him, instead, "Do you want me?"</p><p>His eyes opened immediately. He stared at me. For several seconds, he stayed like that, and I was about to rescind my question, or clarify it to mean something completely different, when he said, "Yes."</p><p>My breath stopped.</p><p>"But," he continued, "I'm not ready for that."</p><p>I blinked. "Oh."</p><p>"If you'll forgive me for it," he said, "I have a certain aversion to being nude in front of others. Even you, unfortunately."</p><p>I remembered - the memory striking my mind like sheet lightning - his mentioning that he'd almost been raped. I wondered despairingly if that was where his aversion came from. Or perhaps it was from years of people mocking his appearance.</p><p>Or, perhaps, both.</p><p>I found his hand under the covers. "I don't need to forgive you for it." I squeezed his fingers. "There's nothing to forgive."</p><p>He softened. "I want to work up to it. Eventually."</p><p>I closed my eyes. "Take as much as you need."</p><p>A long silence, and then a kiss on my forehead. The gentlest kiss yet.</p><p>"I love you, Christine."</p><p>"I love you, too, Erik."</p><p>Sleep claimed us both mere minutes later.</p>
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<a name="section0039"><h2>39. The Coffin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: Self-harm</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>I was eleven.</p><p>Three years. Three years since Marie died. Since Sasha died. Three years, and yet it felt like an entire lifetime had passed.</p><p>I would never, ever forget the way Marie held me when I cried. Or kissed my bare face before bed. Or smiled at me with all the love in the world. The way Sasha would smile too, in her own canine way, tongue sticking out and panting as she sat behind me as I played piano. There was absolutely nothing better on Earth, I'm sure, then the feeling of someone looking at you with joy.</p><p>That was something I would never experience again - with the exception of Right. Cerberus's right head was always smiling, but I think it was less because I was here and more because it was his natural inclination to pant. Javert smiled too, but it wasn't because he enjoyed my company of course. It was because he was pleased with what I managed to bring him.</p><p>Money.</p><p>So much money.</p><p>So much money, in fact, that he did indeed pull together enough to buy his own plot of land just outside of Lyon, rent his own flat there too.</p><p>The plot of land was set up as a permanent place for me to perform. Since he now lived in the city itself, he sold his horses and allowed me to live in the caravan alone with Cerberus. After I turned down the offer to live with the Swedish musician nearly a year ago, I think he now believed I would never run. I think he had a sort of smug confidence in that fact. I was a beast trained well.</p><p>Truly, why would I run? I had my own living space. My own dog (for, though Javert called himself Cerberus's master, he was my dog). Privacy. Real privacy. Javert only came around for a couple of hours a day - but that was it. There was absolutely nothing enticing about leaving my warm home, my safe bed, and trying my chances on the street.</p><p>With a new living situation came a new and improved performance as well.</p><p>Javert bought a coffin. A coffin.</p><p>The moment I saw it - and I wasn't sure why - a piece of light that I didn't know was left inside of me dimmed. He told me what it was for. I felt a dark nothingness at the explanation.</p><p>I burned myself anew when he left. He had, of course, left the coffin behind. It was meant to stay here, with me. Where it belonged. It was difficult to find a fresh place to burn on my wrist. My arms were covered in burn marks. My legs too. My hips. My stomach and chest. I picked a piece of unmarred skin near my ankle and held the needle to it, letting the pain wash away the cacophony of darkness from my mind, letting the hurt fill me with a kind of ease, a kind of control.</p><p>When I finished the burn, I retired to bed. Cerberus never slept on the ground anymore. In fact, I insisted that he didn't. He slept right on top of me. If I had to make the choice between him and myself taking the bed, I would have let him have it in a heartbeat. He was my only friend in the world, and I wanted him to have everything that I could offer.</p><p>In the morning, I made breakfast. I fed and took Cerberus outside. I read. And read. And read some more. And when night fell, I got ready to use my new prop.</p><p>As I walked into the warm evening air, I recalled what Javert had explained last night:</p><p>An hour before the performance, before any guests arrived, I would climb inside the coffin. He would take money from the guests gathered on the grass under the starlit sky. He would introduce Cerberus as he normally did. Then he would introduce me.</p><p>Le Fils d'Hades would then open wide the coffin. Step outside of it. Climb onto the crate for all to see my face, easily hear my voice, watch my dancing body. And I would begin.</p><p>A small addition, barely worth mentioning, really, but for some reason it crushed me.</p><p>I wasn't dead.</p><p>I was alive.</p><p>I had a heartbeat. A mind. I felt pain, hunger, thirst. I slept at night and awoke in the morning.</p><p>I was a monster, yes, but I was still alive.</p><p>But though he'd named me for the son of Hades, though he'd always introduced me as a thing from the underworld, the coffin was the piece that solidified, truly, how the world saw me. A strange half-living thing. Unnatural, undead, and unworthy of taking my place as a person in society.</p><p>As the days passed, I felt less and less affected by the coffin. I was numb to it after a while. Burning myself helped with this. Sleeping with Cerberus too. Reading. But still, every time I was made to close myself inside of it, a little piece of me shriveled. A piece that I doubted I'd ever manage to reinvigorate again.</p><p>Cerberus, burning, and books. These things kept me sane. Take one away, and I think I'd lose my mind. I think my soul would snap in two.</p><p>I felt, truly felt, that this was to be my existence for the rest of my life.</p><p>Should I have known what would come a year later, I would have taken Cerberus and fled. I would have taken my chances.</p><p>I would not have stayed to find out what my twelfth summer held in store.</p>
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<a name="section0040"><h2>40. The Portrait</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: Light sexual content</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>I awoke, a second time, within Erik's arms.</p><p>I decided, as I floated to consciousness, that there was no other way I ever wanted to wake again.</p><p>We were positioned so that my face was near his chest, by his neck. I leaned in slightly and placed a kiss there, where his jaw met his throat. I loved the curve of it - its sharp thinness. I kissed it again. It vibrated, then, as he let out a soft groan, almost a purr.</p><p>"Christine," he breathed, and his chin lowered so that I could no longer reach his neck. I felt his lips on my forehead. "I love you."</p><p>"I love you more," I whispered back.</p><p>I felt him smile against my skin. "Not possible, I'm afraid."</p><p>I smiled in return. "I could very much become used to this."</p><p>"Good." He wrapped his arms tighter around me. "Because I don't think I'll ever sleep again unless you're next to me."</p><p>I think I agreed. I tilted my head back and kissed his lips. He closed his eyes. So did I. My mouth opened against him, gently pushing his lips opened as well. I slipped my tongue inside, brushing it against his. He moaned softly. I felt myself tingle and melt at the sound. His voice was so beautiful, and hearing it express pleasure made me... made me feel...</p><p>I picked up his hand and placed it on my bare waist. His icy fingers gripped my skin with tender pressure. I put my hand on his sleeved arm, gripping that as well. When his hand had been on my warm skin for several seconds - and I knew it was warm, for my entire body felt hot - I felt a sudden change in his energy. He became more fervent - the kisses became harder and more urgent, his breathing increased. His hand began trailing slowly up and up, so that his thumb was just over my ribcage.</p><p>His fingertips were right below the slight top piece of my clothing. He was almost, almost touching my -</p><p>My breathing increased as well, and my kisses became urgent too.</p><p>The desire I felt right now was quite literally insane. I'd never felt this way about anyone. I never knew how strong the feeling would be.</p><p>I thought for certain that I'd have to walk away in a few moments or break apart from my yearning, when he pulled away, breathing ragged.</p><p>"I..." His voice was lovely sandpaper. His eyes looked into mine with a sort of controlled wildness, like a roaring fire surrounded by stone. "I want-"</p><p>"What?" I breathed. "What do you want?" Anything - I will give you anything.</p><p>His eyes shuttered closed. There was something like pain in his expression. "I want to...to touch you."</p><p>Yes.</p><p>"Where?" I whispered.</p><p>His eyes opened again and travelled down, so that they were resting on my silk-wrapped breasts. His thumb moved so that it was hovering just over the soft material - and then he closed his eyes again, moved his hand so that it was back on my waist. I felt bitter disappointment.</p><p>"Where?" I insisted.</p><p>He grimaced. "No. Never mind."</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"I can't ask you to remove clothing when I won't. That's entirely unfair."</p><p>My breathing felt tight. I asked my pulse to slow, but it didn't obey. "What if-" I swallowed. "What if I volunteer to remove clothing?"</p><p>His eyes snapped open and took me in. His pupils seemed to dilate a fraction. "You do not have to."</p><p>"Do you not want me to?"</p><p>"It's...no, it's..." He let out a small, humorless, nervous laugh, almost a sputter of a sound. "Christine, that's not what I meant. I only mean that I am not asking you to. If you choose to remove clothing, then I will be most...I will..." Another short, anxious laugh. If I wasn't mistaken, I would have said his splotchy, veined cheeks held the pinkish hue of a blush. "You seem to have the ability to make me lose my composure."</p><p>I took this as encouragement.</p><p>I sat up and found where the silky material tied in the back. I swiftly undid the small knot and allowed the top to fall from around my chest to the sheets of the bed. I didn't look at him the entire time I did. I laid back down, on my side, now painfully aware of my exposed breasts even as I was the one who chose to expose them.</p><p>I finally shifted my gaze to his eyes.</p><p>And he was looking right back into mine, eyelids pulled wide, disbelief and adoration in his expression.</p><p>"You can look," I said softly, heart pounding against sternum.</p><p>Slow, extremely slowly, he brought his eyes down to my bare chest. I could see him deeply breathing, as if he were trying to control his own intake and outtake of air.</p><p>"And," I added, feeling almost dizzy with excitement and trepidation, "you can touch."</p><p>Though his mismatched orbs were slow to travel down, they were swift to snap back up. He met my rounded eyes with a hard expression. I thought, for just a moment, that he was going to refuse, to protest, but instead, he leaned to the side of my head and placed a kiss to my jaw, just below my ear. His hand moved gradually from my waist to my ribcage again.</p><p>Anticipatory pleasure washed over me as his hand very gently cupped my breast and his lips moved to my cheek, to the corner of my mouth, and then finally covered my own lips entirely. He opened his mouth against mine, and I did the same.</p><p>Again, the kiss went deep. And again, he deepened it with intensity, need, and urgency. I did the same, closing my eyes once more and losing myself in the bliss of it.</p><p>Then his thumb passed over the sensitive, raised piece of skin on my breast, and I moaned involuntarily against his mouth.</p><p>In response, his face pulled away. He went stiff, gasped, and shuddered, spasming once or twice. I was about to ask him what happened, when a bit of my training was recalled to me, and I felt myself blush.</p><p>Before I could say a word, I heard him curse under his breath. He looked at me, sheepishness on the edges of his expression. "I think I might need a bath, after all." He let go of me. "A cold one. Freezing, in fact. I love you, very much, but would you please excuse me?"</p><p>I nodded, knowing how red my face was. Not out of embarrassment - no, not that. Rather, it was more like...deep satisfaction. I'd made that happen.</p><p>He kissed me one more time, on the cheek, and then went to his dresser.</p><p>Apparently, a change of clothes was in order in conjunction with the bath. A cold bath, as he'd said. I tried to hide my smile.</p><p>Those mere touches held more love and closeness and intimacy than I ever thought full lovemaking would ever entail.</p><p>If this was as far as he was comfortable going with intimacy, then I could certainly be content with that.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>I stayed in Erik's bed, snoozing, somewhere between waking and dreaming. They were sweet dreams, and the waking world wasn't terrible either - especially when it meant I was waking to another kiss on my forehead.</p><p>I smiled at the touch.</p><p>"The bath," Erik said, "is open for you now, as well, should you care for it."</p><p>I nodded and got up, picking up the top piece of my outfit as I left. I didn't put it on. It would be taken off in a minute, anyway. But I felt his eyes on me as I walked past him. I felt a bit fierce, walking around topless around him. It didn't feel degrading in the least, as I'd expected it would a month ago. It didn't feel numb, as it had with Amir. No, it felt powerful.</p><p>You please Angel, you are power, too.</p><p>I had to shake Amir's words from my heads, at the tightness in my stomach that the memory of him brought.</p><p>I wondered if he'd felt regret that day that he poisoned me. I wondered if he ever really cared, or if I was just another Flower to train.</p><p>No. I couldn't worry about that now. It was in the past, and it wasn't important anymore.</p><p>When my bath was done, I changed into fresh clothes I'd picked up in the study, and walked into the parlor to see Erik. He was sitting on the couch the faced me, staring with a strange, wide-eyed expression at one of my drawings.</p><p>Of course. My picture of him.</p><p>I walked toward him, running a hand through my damp curls. "Do you like it? I think I did well portraying the loveliness of you." I smiled.</p><p>But he didn't look up right away. Instead, he continued staring at the picture.</p><p>My smile faded. "Erik?" I walked closer. "Do you not like it?"</p><p>Finally, his eyes turned to me. His expression didn't change. He showed me the drawing.</p><p>Oh.</p><p>"Who is this?" he asked. "Your father?"</p><p>I nodded. "Yes."</p><p>He blinked. "I..." He shook his head. "Where is that other drawing you did? The one of him playing violin in the street?"</p><p>"In the study, on the dresser-"</p><p>He was up and into the study faster than I could finish speaking. I heard him ruffling through pages of my drawings for nearly half a minute, when I heard silence. A long stretch of silence.</p><p>"Erik?" I called, nerves eating at the edges of my mind. What on Earth was going on?</p><p>Finally, he emerged, both hands gripping the page, feet seeming to walk without his command. His face was down, examining a paper. He then looked at me, and turned this one toward me, too. It was, indeed, the first picture I'd drawn here in Persia, here in Erik's chambers.</p><p>"You can't see his face well in this one," he said simply, eyes still wide.</p><p>"I know." I gripped my skirts - I was now dressed decently once more. "It was a sketch. And from far away."</p><p>"But..." He rushed to the couch again, sat, and swapped the drawing for the one he'd been looking at before. When he continued, his voice was barely above a whisper. "But you can see his face clearly here."</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"Do you have any more drawings of him?"</p><p>"No, I don't think so. Just those two. Drawing him too much would make me miss him more than I already do." I went to him and sat beside him, close. The fabric of my skirt touched his robes. "Erik, what is going on?"</p><p>"Your father is a musician, yes?" He looked at me, searching me frantically. "Not just that he plays music, but that he is a professional musician?"</p><p>"Yes, Erik."</p><p>His eyes whipped back to the drawing. When he spoke, his voice shook with a sudden intensity. "I..." His hands tightened on the paper. "I... Did you... Christine, are you actually French?"</p><p>Am I actually French?</p><p>"Yes. I am. Why?"</p><p>"You're not...an immigrant? Or perhaps your parents are immigrants?"</p><p>I was baffled. "My mother was French. My father was...is Swedish. So, I suppose, I am half-French, really. Why does that matter?"</p><p>He turned, then, fully, so that his chest faced me. His expression looked as though he'd been slapped across the face - a sudden, pained, shocked look. Absolutely dumbfounded. "Swedish?" he breathed.</p><p>"Erik?" I moved closer to him again, just fractionally. A suspicion sprouted. "Erik, have you met my father?"</p><p>He didn't say anything for quite a while. Then, slowly, he opened his mouth, watching me with a faraway, quizzical look.</p><p>"I don't know."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0041"><h2>41. The Break</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: pedophilia, attempted rape, and animal death. Might be hard to read.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>Tonight, there weren't only residents of Lyon in the crowd.</p><p>In fact, there weren't only French men and women, either.</p><p>Tonight, and for many nights previously - more than my sanity cared to count - there were patrons from Belgium. England. Spain. Germany. Switzerland. Piedmont. Even a couple from America - they'd come all the way from America. And all of them came because they'd heard, by a frighteningly effective word-of-mouth, of Le Fils D'hades, the boy with a face of death, who had the voice of an angel and moved like a demon.</p><p>At twelve years old, I was a national spectacle. A horrifying, thrilling spectacle.</p><p>I wondered, sometimes, why no one from Lyon made to throw stones through the windows of the caravan at night. Why they didn't protest. Then Javert explained the tourism his show brought to the city, how much more prosperous it was now that his attraction was here. He used this to threaten me, too - should I slack in my performances, tourism may die down, and the people of Lyon may set fire to my living quarters in the middle of the night.</p><p>The most I ever found, in fact, were letters from anonymous writers, claiming to be messengers of God, claiming that my dog and I were a scourge on their city. They asked me to end myself and Cerberus, so as to do the right thing and keep them from killing us themselves. I brought this up to Javert, but he didn't seem concerned. At least, if he did, he didn't say so to me. Nothing ever came of it, anyway. After a while, I decided that if they did kill me, then at least I wouldn't have to perform anymore.</p><p>But it wasn't the people I needed to worry about as I placed the canvas tarp over the coffin to protect it from the weather, all alone at night. It wasn't them I needed to fear as I got ready for bed.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>Javert had been watching me during the show. He'd been watching me, in fact, for the last several weeks.</p><p>Though this wasn't abnormal, there was something different about the way he'd looked at me. It reminded me of the way he looked at the children who passed through - too fascinated, too full of unknown intent.</p><p>I didn't care for it, but I also didn't think much of it.</p><p>As I was falling asleep, Cerberus on top of me, I heard the door to the caravan unlock.</p><p>I sat up immediately, forcing Cerberus to jump to the ground. I watched in fear as the door slowly opened. Javert walked in. I couldn't see him well, but he looked to be carrying...something. My dog froze.</p><p>"Boy," said Javert gruffly, "light the oil lamp."</p><p>I'd learned long ago not to ask him "why". I scrambled out of bed and went to the lamp on the table, quickly lighting it, wondering what was going on. He never came here this late - not now that he had a place to live of his own.</p><p>I turned to him, finally, and I swear that my heart surely stopped. Frost lined my veins.</p><p>In his hands, pointed at me, was the rifle I'd found years ago.</p><p>My head spun, fear gripping me and not letting go. "I don't understand."</p><p>"You," he began, "are hideously ugly. You know that, don't you?"</p><p>I didn't move.</p><p>"You know that, don't you, boy?"</p><p>I finally nodded.</p><p>"When I see you," he continued, "I am disgusted by your face. I do mean disgusted. It's wondrously terrible to look at, and I keep it together quite well, but Lord! - if my stomach doesn't absolutely churn at the sight of your features... You understand me?"</p><p>I swallowed. "Yes, Master."</p><p>"Then why is it," he continued darkly, eyes narrowing, "that when I lay my head down at night, when you're no longer around, I have the insatiable urge to take you?"</p><p>My breathing stopped. Take me? "Master?"</p><p>"I want to do this while you're still young." Javert raised the rifle, which had started to dip as he spoke. "I have no desire to fuck gown men, and you're already taller than me, so if I wait any longer, I will miss my chance."</p><p>And now I understood.</p><p>I started shaking. The only thought in my head was the word no. No, no, no. I didn't want this. I didn't.</p><p>"Master," I whispered, "please. Don't."</p><p>He ignored me. "Drop your trousers."</p><p>"Please-"</p><p>"Do as I said, boy."</p><p>My breathing became ragged. The world was spinning. "You're - you're going to rape me." I had to grip the table behind me.</p><p>"And be grateful for it; no one will ever touch you otherwise. Drop your trousers."</p><p>Hands shaking, I moved them to my pants and pulled them down. I didn't step out of them completely as they pooled at my bare feet. He didn't ask me to. As I stood there, naked below the waist, I felt in my soul that I would never, ever want to be naked again. In front of anyone.</p><p>"Now," he said gruffly, still pointing the barrel at me, "go to the middle of the floor and face away from me."</p><p>I was numb as I did as he asked, shuffling to the middle of the caravan, past Cerberus so that the dog was watching, between us, off to the side. I wished I could ask him for help.</p><p>"Go to your hands and knees."</p><p>But I couldn't.</p><p>Fear was taking hold of my every muscle and I couldn't move. I didn't want this. I didn't want this.</p><p>I opened my mouth to beg him not to one more time, but when I opened my mouth, a sob came forth.</p><p>"Shut up, boy!" Javert growled. "Just shut up. That harder you cry, the more it will hurt. I will make sure of that."</p><p>I forced my sobs to die down, but I couldn't stop the hiccupping, and I could not move.</p><p>"Go to your fucking hands and knees!"</p><p>I couldn't I couldn't I couldn't I couldn't I couldn't-</p><p>And then I felt his foot connect, hard, with my lower back. I fell forward with a cry, now forced to the position he'd asked for.</p><p>And as I fell, Cerberus - all three heads - let out a terrifying mixture of barks and growls. A primal, deep, guttural sound. When my hands and knees connected with the floor, I heard Javert scream as well. I moved to sit as soon as I met the ground.</p><p>My eyes widened at what I saw; my blood turned even colder.</p><p>Javert was on the floor right along with me, face white and contorted in pain.</p><p>Middle was sinking his teeth, hard, into his femur. Javert continued screaming, trying to pull away, the rifle next to him. Middle only clamped his jaw down with more ferocity, Left and Right barking and growling as though to encourage their brother to continue. Javert's scream was actually mind-shattering - the utter sound of the agony.</p><p>Then Javert remembered the rifle.</p><p>Hands shaking, he picked it up.</p><p>Time slowed. Javert readied the gun and pointed it directly at Middle's head - and I could only watch in grief and horror as he pulled the trigger.</p><p>There was blood. So much blood.</p><p>But the moment Middle died, Right and Left did too. I didn't know if this was because Middle controlled the heart, or because his heart needed all three brains functioning to work properly, but I'd lost my only friend in the world.</p><p>Again.</p><p>I broke.</p><p>I broke as Javert made the fatal mistake of dropping his rifle and bringing his quivering hands to his bleeding, shredded leg, grunting and moaning and panting in pain. His eyes were closed, and I think that he was so focused on the pain that he didn't notice me get up, or bring my trousers back up. I don't think he noticed me walk over and pick up the rifle.</p><p>But when I pointed the barrel to his forehead, his eyes sprang open.</p><p>His moaning stopped. His eyes became focused, and he went very still.</p><p>"What are you doing?" he whispered. "What do you think you're doing?"</p><p>I didn't respond. He stared at me, eyes calculating. I could see him thinking of ways to move, of things to say, without being shot and killed first.</p><p>"Boy," he said at last, "that rifle only has two shots. I just used one on that damned dog - and if you miss -"</p><p>I touched the barrel to his skin. A coldness had entered my voice that I'd never heard before. By the widened look in his eyes, he'd clearly never heard it from me, either. "I don't think that I will miss."</p><p>Javert's breathing became jagged. I saw, for the first time, panic enter his eyes. "Boy, listen to me," he said, "I know you cared about Cerberus. I cared about him, too. He's been my dog for years, longer than he's been yours...and, of course he was your dog!" He attempted a smile. "I know that. We both know that. I am sorry that I had to take his life. It was necessary. He was going to kill me."</p><p>I didn't move.</p><p>He continued, and I could see an attempt to make his face soft, gentle. "You're a good boy. You know that? You're so respectful. Always been so respectful of me. And so hardworking. I know I don't tell you enough. And I know it is wrong of me to...to do what I was about to do. I know how wrong it is for me to hit you. But I don't hit you all the time, do I? Only when you misbehave. And you do misbehave, sometimes, boy. We both know you do. But I will get help for my behavior - I will go to church. I will do whatever it takes to be a better man. Do you understand?"</p><p>His sudden sweetness made me sick. I'd watched how he'd readied the rifle when he shot my friend. I copied the movement. His panic increased.</p><p>He tried a different tactic, losing his feigned kindness like he was snuffing out a candle. "How dare you do this?" he demanded. "How dare you even think about it? After all I've given you. Do you know what your mother was planning to do with you had her lover not sold you to me? An asylum, boy! You were to be trapped in an asylum. But instead, you were given to me, and I...I gave you books! I gave you warm food, a warm bed. A home, all in exchange for what? I half-hour of work a day? A half-hour of work. It's generous - and now you hate me for it? My father hit me, it's nothing I couldn't take. And as for what I was going to do tonight - I maintain what I said the first time. Be grateful for it. No one will ever love you. I'm the only one who will ever give you even an ounce of care. Do you hear me, boy? An ounce-"</p><p>"My name isn't boy," I said flatly. "It's Erik."</p><p>I pulled the trigger.</p><p>More blood as he fell back.</p><p>I felt nothing. Absolutely nothing.</p><p>And because I didn't want to feel something, I refused to touch Cerberus. I refused to look at him.</p><p>I dropped the gun. I had to go, to leave, and if authorities eventually came looking for his killer, they'd surely look for someone with a rifle. Though it was out of ammunition, and though I had no idea where to find any, it could still be a valuable resource. But it was simply too conspicuous. However, a knife could do. Not as effective as pointing a rifle at a threat, but it would stop people from coming too close.</p><p>I went to the kitchen and picked up the knife I'd used earlier today to spread butter onto bread. Sharp. Good.</p><p>I cleaned it off with my shirt. I went to put on my leather shoes.</p><p>And I ran, leaving death behind in my stead.</p>
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<a name="section0042"><h2>42. The Fool</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: drug use</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>I tried to ask Erik more of what he knew of my father, but he wouldn't say. In fact, the more I asked, the more he seemed to shut his doors to me. Not that he lost his affections, but that he spoke less and less, showing less emotion, trying to change the subject.</p><p>Eventually, he told me that he really should be getting back to work, leaving me absolutely reeling with the need to know why he was so adamant to have details of Gustave Daae.</p><p>The frustration was unreal.</p><p>But, knowing Erik, if he didn't want to reveal something, he would not be revealing it. Despite how irksome it was to be left without answers, despite how terribly it tickled at my mind, I resisted the urge to scratch. I had to tell myself that by prying into his past, I would only push him away.</p><p>Even if a part of that past involved my father. Or didn't. Or did. I didn't know. How was I supposed to know if he refused to say.</p><p>Lord, I felt antsy. How was I supposed to focus on drawing now?</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>Lessons. Then dinner. Then we needed to go to to the Khanum's chambers.</p><p>The entire time, I felt that small relentless buzz - the feeling one only seems to get when there's something one needs to say. To ask. To do. But one knows they will regret it if the words are emitted, the actions are proceeded with.</p><p>'Goodness, you do ask a lot of questions', Erik had told me the day I'd been given to him. I knew it was true. I also knew that, though he'd never say something like this to me now - at least not with sincerity - it was very wise to simply keep my mouth shut. But having the burning need to know was actually like a fire - turning every other potential topic to ash as we sat across from one another in his parlor.</p><p>So I ended up leaving it to him to come up with things to talk about. This, I don't think he minded. I think he knew quite well what I actually wanted to bring up. I think, in fact, he was simply grateful I was holding my tongue.</p><p>And when dinner ended, I once again put on my Flower clothes. And we made our way to the Khanum's chambers.</p><p>For this, there was a surprising and microscopic part of me that was actually relieved. Going to the Khanum was deeply unpleasant - terrifying. A wonderful distraction from my need to play Pandora around Erik's box of secrets.</p><p>I sat in my usual spot on her couch. Erik stood in the center of the room. I looked down, but I could feel her eyes on me. From the corner of my vision, I saw her turn to one of the eunuchs and say something softly. I heard his short reply and then his footsteps. He went to a corner of the room, behind me to my left, and returned. I finally did look. He gave her a small, golden, gilded box.</p><p>The Khanum smiled slightly as she opened the box - stopping momentarily to let her face contort and scream words at an empty wall across the room - and then calmly proceeded to take two blue, smooth, shiny objects from its red felt inside lining. The objects were two thin tubes, about the circumference of my thumb but three times as long, with a sort of cylindrical, open-topped piece at the end. The other side of the tube was open as well.</p><p>I glanced at Erik. His eyes had grown a bit wider, but the rest of his face and body remained neutral.</p><p>I turned back to the objects.</p><p>The Khanum handed me one of the tubes. Knowing better than to hesitate, I took it immediately. It was cool to the touch, but in the cylindrical top, I could see something light brown packed inside.</p><p>She spoke again. The translator behind us said, "Show gratitude. You, Rose, will have the distinct honor of smoking hashish with the Khanum."</p><p>I stared what I now knew was a smoking pipe. I forced my mouth to open and emit the words, "Thank you, Khanum. I am not worthy of such a gift."</p><p>I didn't need to look at Erik to feel his absolute discomfort.</p><p>Thought stampeded through my mind. I knew that this substance altered the mind - like alcohol, but differently. What if I became fool? What if I said something I wasn't supposed to?</p><p>A eunuch came around and lit the pipes. Smoke, giving an earthy smell, rose from the cylinder.</p><p>I did my best to forget every shred of affection and kindness Erik had shown me. I tried to erase from my mind what I knew of Echoes, Echo Hall, and the plot to kill the son of the powerful woman sitting right next to me. I attempted to lose memory of Erik's secret bleeding heart, the Daroga's rage for the royalty, and the Grand Vizier's illegal affair with the Prince.</p><p>And then, when the Khanum began to smoke, I put the pipe to my lips as well. I dragged in a breath.</p><p>I pulled it away from my mouth instantly and coughed, deeply, feeling suddenly quite sick. Who would do this? Breathe in smoke? For fun? Even the cigars so popular in Europe - why?</p><p>At my coughing, the Khanum laughed with mirth, throwing her head back with a light, feminine sound. Her harem girls followed suit. I looked shortly at Erik, and he was refusing to look back at me, but I saw a sort of tension in his hands and shoulders.</p><p>I didn't feel embarrassed - my concern over my own mental state was at the forefront of my mind. So far, I felt entirely normal. But perhaps that's how one feels when under the influence. I'd been drunk before - my father and I played chess (badly) while absolutely gone under the influence, giggling like maniacs, when I was sixteen - but what was this going to be like?</p><p>I took another draw, but this time I didn't cough. My lungs, it seemed, were now more concerned with not spilling secrets than remembering that there was smoke inside of them.</p><p>At last, a victim was brought into the room. I watched Erik's Angel persona unfurl. I watched the victim - a small, middle-aged and balding man - break into tears. I watched the entire room go silent.</p><p>And then it happened.</p><p>The world seemed to both focus and unfocus at the same time. Everything held a sort of faraway quality to it, and yet everything I looked at was honed in, like I was looking at it through a magnifying glass. It was the strangest sensation, and yet...it felt so nice. Everything felt so nice. So peaceful. Even the man shaking next to Erik.</p><p>Somehow, I remembered that I was supposed to be looking down. I took another draw of the pipe.</p><p>The Khanum said something. The translator repeated it in French. But for some reason, I didn't catch it. I was focused on watching Erik's feet move. The victim's feet. The man had such little feet compared to Erik. They were so small. Or maybe Erik's were just big. Big feet. Biiiiiiiiiiig feet. Giant feet. Humongous feet. Long feet. Longfeet. Feetlong.</p><p>"Feetlong," I whispered out loud. I giggled. I giggled harder. I giggled, in fact, for an entire hour. I heard the Khanum giggling, too.</p><p>My, this execution was taking such a long time. Didn't Erik say that they usually only lasted a few minutes?</p><p>The Khanum said the same words again, and this time, I heard what the translator said. "How are you enjoying the hashish, Rose?"</p><p>"Oh," I said, "I'm sorry, Khanum. You asked me that an hour ago."</p><p>At that, the Khanum laughed again, fully. This time, not only the harem girls laughed, but so did the eunuchs. I grinned. Oh, I was making everyone so happy. This was nice. I laughed, too.</p><p>And this time, I couldn't stop laughing. I was unable, in fact, to control my own diaphragm and lungs as they spasmed, sending glee into my mind. Sending glee into the minds of everyone present.</p><p>I couldn't stop laughing even as the victim fell to the ground. The way his eyes glazed, wide open, as his body crumpled was just so silly.</p><p>I closed my eyes, and then all that surrounded me was laughter. Mine. The Khanum's. The girls and eunuchs and translator. In fact, I think the only one not laughing was Erik.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>I followed Erik through the halls. He seemed to stiff as he walked, and this was definitely a problem, because he was the only thing I seemed to be able to focus on. It felt like walking through a dream, with the glittering walls of the palace somewhere hazy and out of reach, but Erik crystal clear.</p><p>Paranoia sprouted in my mind at the edge his mood had taken. Had I been laughing too long? Did he now find my laughter annoying? Did he not love me anymore?</p><p>The pace of my breathing increased, and I had to stop walking. Erik stopped, too. He looked at me with anger. So, so, so angry.</p><p>"I'm sorry I laughed for an hour. It was just really funny. You didn't think it was funny? Your feet are so much bigger than his, and it was so funny."</p><p>Confusion laced his gaze. "Christine, it was fifteen minutes. Total. Not an hour."</p><p>Oh.</p><p>I giggled anew. Now that was silly. All of my previous concerns were gone. Poof! Gone! So silly!</p><p>He took my wrist and pulled me along, faster, so that the guards following us had to move faster. As I was dragged, I turned to look at one of them.</p><p>He was handsome. I wondered if he liked his job. Did he have a wife? Children? What was his life like outside of this?</p><p>I smiled at him as he walked next to me. "Hello."</p><p>He didn't turn to me. He merely kept walking.</p><p>Oh, he must not have heard me. "Hello, Monsieur. How are you?"</p><p>Again, he didn't hear me. Hm.</p><p>"Monsieur," I continued, "are you deaf, perhaps?"</p><p>'Christine, stop.' Erik's voice trick. 'He can't understand you, and he's trained not to respond to you, as you are expected to talk to no man other than me. Stop, please.'</p><p>I could hear him right in my ear. But he wasn't in my ear. Picture that - a tiny Erik sitting inside my ear. I giggled harder. If I wasn't mistaken, Erik's speed increased.</p><p>At last, we came to Erik's chambers. He swiftly unlocked the door. He pulled me inside and turned the lock. But rather than look at me, he was staring at the couch, his eyes widening and mouth opening.</p><p>I turned to look as well.</p><p>On the left couch was Ibrahim's body, limp and unmoving, still as death.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0043"><h2>43. The Thief</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>Bourg St. Maurice.</p><p>It was late summer, and I'd been on my own for nearly two weeks, stealing and walking my way east through France. Piedmont was, perhaps, only another one or two days' walk away. This was my goal. Get as far away from France as I could. And, too, once I was out of France, I was out of the reach of the French police. I didn't know if the Piedmont police would turn me in, or arrest me themselves, should they discover that I'd killed Javert. But my chances were better regardless.</p><p>And so, through the town of Bourg St. Maurice I went. I hadn't eaten in about a day, and I would need to stop to find food. The town had plenty of shops around, and I'd become quite good at going unnoticed when I slipped an item into my pants pocket. Nothing too large. Nothing too desirable. A small roll of hard bread. A pear with spots on it. Things that, had I not taken them, would likely have gone into the garbage anyway.</p><p>The sun was low in the sky, the sky a swirl of pinks and purples as I stood outside the small stone grocery store on the corner of the street. I waited for a young couple to walk in and quickly followed close behind them.</p><p>And I set to work. The store was currently almost empty, save for the couple I'd walked in with, as well as a woman and her two children. If the grocer was suspicious, then I would turn and go, as there would be little point in trying to steal. And this was unfortunately common - I'd only managed to eat twice this week. The mask made me a target for wariness; and though they were right to suspect me, it was still incredibly frustrating and, in my opinion, unfair. But when I found the grocer in deep conversation with the very pretty young mother, I went straight for the fruits. There. That apple there was dented, slightly browned in one place. I looked around, ensuring that no one to be watching me, and swiped the apple, putting it into my pocket. I was about to swivel on my heels and walk away, when the man I'd followed in turned to his wife.</p><p>"Did you hear the outcome of what happened to that Benoit fellow, Amelie?"</p><p>I froze. Javert.</p><p>Knowing that simply standing there without moving looked more conspicuous than was ideal, I began observing the broccoli.</p><p>"No. What happened?" I heard her ask.</p><p>"Some religious zealot in Lyon took credit for it," he said. "Claimed he found the door unlocked and shot the dog and the man right there on the spot."</p><p>"My God! And the boy? Did they find the boy?"</p><p>"No." As I listened to them talk, my heart pounded in my ears. "But the zealot claimed he killed him, too. Buried him somewhere in the woods behind the caravan. He claims he did it because he wanted to rid his city of the demon child, his master, and the dog from Hell."</p><p>"You sound as though you don't believe it."</p><p>"I don't Amelie. Not one bit. The man claiming he did it is an American immigrant, a puritan. One of a few, apparently, trying to spread their gospel to France; and you know how insane those types can be. I have no doubt that he is taking credit for something he didn't do, just to look like a martyr to his peers. The fact that they can't find the body...No. With no other leads, the police have accepted the man's confession. No, I think that that poor boy had enough and killed his master; I can't imagine he very much liked living like-"</p><p>I was gone from the store, head spinning, before I could hear more.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>Nearly a month later, I'd arrived in Venice.</p><p>The September weather was still warm, and I was once again hungry as I walked through the streets split by what seemed like thousands of canals.</p><p>But the grocers here were more alert, more watchful. I'd read in one of my many books - books that I missed dearly - how common thieves were in this city. I would need to eat soon, I decided, and then keep moving into Austria.</p><p>I sat in the alley between two buildings, the ground here dry even after the rain, deciding that I would have to wait until morning to try, as the sky was now full of stars. I sighed and turned my head, looking into the street, hoping that I wouldn't be asked, yet again, to move from my current spot-</p><p>But then, in the dim yellow lamplight, I saw them. Two boys, perhaps a little older than me, walking. The shorter one was tan, black haired; the taller one was darker. The shorter one was holding a small sack; he stopped suddenly, and opened the brown bag. He looked up and found that the taller boy had continued walking.</p><p>"Vincenzo!" he called. "Aspettate! Torna indietro!"</p><p>Vincenzo, the darker, taller one, returned. He had hair pulled back in a ponytail, and was, even from here in the dark, extremely handsome. He spoke harshly, lowly. "Carmelo, stai zitto! Vuoi svegliare l'intera citta? Ora vieni. Possiamo discutere quando arriviamo." He looked around him and turned, continuing in the direction that they'd been walking.</p><p>Carmelo reached into the bag and pulled out...he pulled out money. Money.</p><p>I stood.</p><p>I didn't hear the rest of their words, not that I could understand it, anyway. Vincenzo was by now several paces away, and Carmelo was shorter than me. I could take him. And I knew I was fast.</p><p>Before I could think twice about it, I bolted from the alley. I flew past Carmelo, gripping the sack, tearing it from his grip, and ran.</p><p>Carmelo cried out in shock. "Vincenzo!"</p><p>I thought, perhaps, I would be able to make it, when something heavy slammed into me, knocking me to the ground, onto the wet cobblestone. I grunted as my hands were forced behind my back.</p><p>Panic took me as I remembered the last time I'd been restrained. I could go to prison for this. I could be in a cage again.</p><p>God, what was I thinking? Was I really this stupid? I wasn't near-death. I could have waited a while to eat.</p><p>I squirmed, but whoever was on top of me - probably Vincenzo - was holding my wrists together tightly, sitting on my legs, and I was trapped.</p><p>I breathed in and out sharply a few times. "Let me go! Let me go!"</p><p>"Tu chi sei?" demanded Vincenzo darkly. "Dimmi chi sei!"</p><p>"I don't know!" I tried to move my arms or legs, but couldn't. "I don't understand!"</p><p>Silence, and then I heard Carmelo speak. "Indossa una maschera."</p><p>Another pause. "E vero," said Vincenzo. "Vediamo cosa nasconde. Toglila, Carmelo."</p><p>Carmelo went around to where my face was, my masked cheek against the ground - and I watched with horror as he stooped down and pulled it off my face. He jumped back with a gasp.</p><p>"Che cazzo..." said Vincenzo.</p><p>I closed my eyes, feeling as though I might cry. "No..."</p><p>"Cosa facciamo?" asked Carmelo.</p><p>"Lo..." Vincenzo cleared his throat. "Lo portiamo da Giovanni. Gli chiediamo."</p><p>And I was forced to my feet by Vincenzo, who was surprisingly strong. Carmelo picked up the sack I'd dropped on my way to the ground. My stomach dropped as Carmelo searched my pockets and found the knife, now wrapped in cloth as it had been for months so as not to cut me - the knife I'd been using to intentionally cut myself late at night, in lieu of burning - and smiled. He unwrapped the blade and held it to my throat, both boys forcing me to walk forward, into the unknown.</p><p>The mask lay on the cobblestone, left behind.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0044"><h2>44. The Heartbroken</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>"Is he dead?" Panic rose in me, a tidal wave of alarm, as my mind magnified Ibrahim's body. I couldn't see anything else.</p><p>Erik didn't respond. Stiffly, seeming not to breathe, he went to Ibrahim and picked up his wrist, checking his pulse with two expert fingers.</p><p>Tears sprang to my eyes. Ibrahim was my friend. We've been friends for years. No, not years. Months. No...wait. I wasn't sure. "Is he dead?" I asked again, voice harsh and broken in my tight throat.</p><p>Erik glanced back up at me, and shook his head. "No. Asleep. At least, I hope asleep - and that this isn't a repeat of what happened to you."</p><p>But now that the wave had come, it refused to break. The tears flowed freely. I gasped against the sobs, letting myself crumple to the floor, onto my knees.</p><p>Erik's eyes closed, sighing. "Oh, Christine. He's alive." His eyes opened again. He cleared his throat and said loudly, looking at him, "Ibrahim!"</p><p>No response. I cried harder. "Someone put him here! Someone hurt him and put him here! How else could he be here?"</p><p>"He has a key," Erik responded gently. Then, loud again, "Ibrahim!" Still no response.</p><p>"Why..." I hiccupped. "Why does he have a key?"</p><p>Erik didn't respond right away. Instead, he left for one of the rooms. I couldn't remember which one it was. But he was gone for hours. I cried again. Abandoned. He really did hate me now.</p><p>Finally, he returned with a mug of water.</p><p>"You left!" I accused him, still on my knees. He stopped in his tracks and stared in surprise at me. "You left for so long, and didn't tell me where you were going!"</p><p>He shook his head, now watching me sadly. "A minute, Christine. I was in the bathing room for a minute. Your perception of time is not accurate at the moment."</p><p>I hiccupped again.</p><p>"And to respond to your question," he said, walking to the Grand Vizier, "he takes Echo Hall to Nadir's house, like me. The Shah expects him to stay in regular contact with me, anyway, so him visiting my chambers frequently is not suspicious. There's normally little reason for him to visit Nadir's house, so regularly visiting the Daroga openly might make the Shah ask questions. So he does so in secret."</p><p>Though I heard the words, I didn't process anything past "he takes Echo Hall". "I haven't seen him come here to use Echo Hall." I wiped at my wet cheeks.</p><p>Then, to my shock, Erik poured the water directly on Ibrahim's face. He still didn't wake. At the image, my mirth returned and I giggled.</p><p>Erik didn't find it funny. He looked from Ibrahim to me in exhaustion. "He arrives early in the morning," he explained softly, "while you've still been asleep. Not every morning, but meetings aren't every morning, either. Of course, when he does come, he's asked me if I am joining him. He hasn't questioned me much when I say no. He doesn't care quite so much as Nadir - or if he does, he doesn't press it."</p><p>I heard absolutely none of that.</p><p>He brought his hand to Ibrahim's cheeks and slapped it, rapid-fire, roughly. My giggles intensified.</p><p>At last, the Grand Vizier stirred. Slowly, his eyes opened. They were unfocused, not realizing Erik was there. Instead, he rubbed at his hit cheek, and his eyes found me kneeling on the floor.</p><p>His words were slurred when he spoke. "Rose..." And the rest was in Persian.</p><p>A strange thing happened, then. I realized that I couldn't speak Persian. That I was trapped only speaking French. That my brain was locked in that way. In fact, my soul was trapped in this body. I could move, yes, but I couldn't reach across the room while sitting right here. There were so many things undoable and unknowable to me, that it was maddening.</p><p>My breathing increased again. "I am trapped inside," I whispered.</p><p>Ibrahim looked at me with confusion. "I forgot. French." So slurred. Slow and slurred.</p><p>Erik stared at Ibrahim, a growing look of horror on his face. "Are you...drunk?"</p><p>A childlike grin spread over Ibrahim's face. "You know me well, my f...friend." He reached his arms over his head in a stretch.</p><p>Meanwhile, I was staring at my own fingertips. At how small they were. Oh, I'd never reach the other wall with these. I looked up to Erik. "My hands."</p><p>He turned to me. "What, Christine?"</p><p>"They're too small to touch the wall."</p><p>He looked at me, then at a grinning Ibrahim, then at me. "Well, this is just marvelous, isn't it?"</p><p>"Marvelous," repeated Ibrahim, closing his eyes, taking in the bliss of the sound he'd just made. "I like that word."</p><p>Erik shook his head and went to me. My hands were still outstretched in front of me. He took them and pulled me up, taking me to sit next to him on the couch across from Ibrahim.</p><p>"I...vomited in your toilet," said Ibrahim with a giggle. "I hope that is all right."</p><p>Erik's lips thinned. "Ibrahim what are you-"</p><p>"Oh!" He suddenly reached into his pocket and pulled out a stark white sheet of paper, swirling letters on it. I couldn't read it, of course. Not that I'd likely have the stamina right now to as it was. He held it out, across the table, his arm a bit drooped. Erik stood and took it, immediately reading it. He looked back up at Ibrahim gradually, concern on his face. Ibrahim nodded his head up and down, eyes still closed. "You can...read it."</p><p>"I did."</p><p>"Out loud."</p><p>Erik glanced at me shortly. I smiled at him when he did. I liked him a lot.</p><p>"Are you sure?" he asked.</p><p>Ibrahim nodded again.</p><p>Erik began reading in Persian, but the Grand Vizier cut him off. "No, no. In French. So the Rose can hear. She...she is a friend and we can include her."</p><p>"Oh..." I said, feeling sudden deep affection. My eyes filled with tears again, and my voice became high pitched. "Ibrahim, you're my friend, too."</p><p>Ibrahim giggled, and I giggled too.</p><p>Erik's eyes looked exhausted as he took us in. Poor thing. Maybe he needed another nap. I was about to suggest this when he opened his mouth to read.</p><p>"Grand Vizier Ibrahim Jahandir,</p><p>I heard of your many exploits into my brother's Palace Garden. How exciting that is! Truly, I am glad that you are taking advantage of such a wonder in Tehran.</p><p>On an unrelated note, I will not be returning to the palace this month. I have informed my brother as such, as well.</p><p>Take care my friend."</p><p>"It's from the Prince," explained Ibrahim, voice slurred as ever. His eyes were opened now, and from here I could see his eyes were lightly pink. They were becoming wet, and he seemed to be taking very deep breaths.</p><p>"That was nice," I said, though I'd admittedly only heard the word "exciting".</p><p>"He...is saying that he is angry." Ibrahim tried to sit up, struggled, and decided to stay down. He sighed. "He says that not coming is...unrelated. But I...know him. He's upset."</p><p>"Why?" I asked.</p><p>"Because," continued Erik softly, "the Prince thinks Ibrahim is actually sleeping with Flowers."</p><p>Ibrahim nodded, and then burst into tears. His voice, accented and slurred and now pushing through sobs, became difficult to understand. But what I did manage to catch was: "...love him...doesn't understand...have to...pretend..."</p><p>And at the sight of him crying, I cried, too. Deeply. I wished I could make him feel better. Ibrahim was sad. So, so sad. I'd never seen him sad.</p><p>Erik closed his eyes, putting his forefinger and thumb against his forehead.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0045"><h2>45. The Fox</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>My mind raced with ways to overcome my current predicament as I was walked through the midnight Venetian streets. On one side were stone buildings, tall, blocking out the moonlight. On the other side were the white shimmers of the canals. I couldn't see Vincenzo as he walked behind me, his grip like iron on my wrists. I could, however, see Carmelo. As he held the knife to my throat, he held in his boyish face a sort of victorious glee. His eyes were round and shining, and his mouth was spread wide in a smile. His every step was sure, like he'd just caught an animal in a trap and was now taking it home to feast.</p><p>"Please," I whispered, staring at him, even as I knew he couldn't understand me. "Please, let me go. I won't steal from you again."</p><p>Carmelo's eyebrow cocked, and he glanced at Vincenzo behind me. "Cosa sta dicendo?" He didn't lower the knife.</p><p>"Come dovrei saperlo?" was Vincenzo's low reply.</p><p>Carmelo shrugged and continued walking.</p><p>I swallowed. I think, even if they could understand me, they wouldn't be keen to let me free anyway. I had no idea, truly, where they were taking me.</p><p>My captors were apparently quite adept at avoiding passersby, at avoiding police in general. The entire walk, the boys would suddenly pull me into an alleyway. We'd watch, a few seconds later, as a man in uniform, or a young couple, or a lone man would pass by. More time would pass, and then we would continue on our way.</p><p>At last, we arrived at...I wasn't sure, at first glance. From the golden light coming through the windows, I could see tables, people sitting at them. A beer glass next to a flowerpot on one of the inside windowsills. It had a second and third floor, and some of those windows were lit, too. On the first floor, a woman walked from table to table, dropping off plates and glasses.</p><p>An inn, I realized. Carmelo deftly moved the knife to his teeth, used his now-free hand to open the door, and gripped the knife once more, holding it to my throat - all in the span of, perhaps, three seconds. Faster than I could even think to get away.</p><p>Chatter in a language I didn't speak emerged. On either side of us was a dining room, and before us were two staircases - one that went up and one that went down. I thought for a moment that we might move into one of the dining rooms, but then I was pushed forward, toward the staircase that went down.</p><p>"Non cadere," whispered Vincenzo into my ear, and Carmelo sniggered. I didn't know what that meant, but I watched my feet as we went down, Carmelo walking backwards now, staring at me with interest.</p><p>"E molto brutto," he said.</p><p>"Zitto," said Vincenzo simply.</p><p>Carmelo gaped. "E vero, si?"</p><p>"Si, ma zitto."</p><p>At the bottom of the stairs, we entered into what appeared to be a cellar. In the middle of the cellar was a round table, and at it were three people. On the right was a large man, skin like walnut wood, and hair black, intensely curled, and pulled back into a thick mass with a red ribbon; he played a game of cards by himself. On the left was a girl who looked to be about my age, slightly upturned brown eyes, and long brown hair; she read a book. The man in the middle, though, was who my gaze lingered on. Darker than the girl next to him, but not quite so dark as the man, he looked back at us without a single expression.</p><p>But it wasn't his expression that surprised me; it was the deep, ugly scar that stretched from the outer corner of his right eye and slashed diagonally across his cheek to the right corner of his mouth. In front of him was what looked like veal and green vegetables. My mouth salivated at the sight without my permission, and I swallowed.</p><p>He put down the fork and knife he was holding, looking right back at me. I didn't look at the man or the girl, but I saw, in the corner of my eye, that he signed the cross. The girl stood straight up with a gasp of horror, dropping her book to the table.</p><p>The man in the middle finally looked away from me, toward Vincenzo, then Carmelo. He glanced at the girl, then at the man, and finally brought his eyes back to me. </p><p>"Tu chi sei?" he asked softly.</p><p>Carmelo began to respond, but the man took his knife and slammed it, blade down, into the table. It stood straight up. I felt my knees begin to shake - the image of Javert kicking me flashed into my mind.</p><p>His expression remained neutral. His voice remained gentle. He looked at Carmelo, who had now decided he no longer wanted to speak. "Te l'ho chiesto, figlio?"</p><p>"No, padre."</p><p>"Grazie." He looked at me. "Tu chi sei?"</p><p>My mouth was dry. There was that phrase again. "I don't understand." My voice shook.</p><p>His eyebrows raised. "Do you understand me now?" Accented, but clear.</p><p>I nearly stopped breathing. "Yes."</p><p>"Good." His expression still didn't change. "What is your name?"</p><p>"Erik."</p><p>"And why have Vincenzo and my son brought you here to me?"</p><p>"I tried to steal from them." No point in lying about it now. He'd likely just ask them what happened, anyway.</p><p>Suddenly, he smiled, widely. It looked identical, actually, to Carmelo's smile. "I assume you were nearly successful, or they wouldn't have troubled to bring you all the way to my little lair."</p><p>I didn't respond for a while, and then, "Yes, sir." I paused. "I will not steal from them again. I was merely..." I glanced shortly at his plate of food. My stomach protested, and I looked back up. "I was hungry."</p><p>"Where is your mother?"</p><p>"Dead." Marie was my mother, and she was dead. My fault.</p><p>"And your father?"</p><p>"Also dead." According to Madeleine, that was my fault, too.</p><p>"I see." The man narrowed his eyes. "And your face? Who did that?"</p><p>"God." He was dead as well.</p><p>He stared at me for a while, brown eyes calculating me. Then: "My name is Giovanni Billisi. I'd ask you how you are, but I can take a wild guess just by looking at your dirty clothes and lack of meat on your bones. I can surmise, too, that you don't very much like having a knife to your throat or your hands forced behind you."</p><p>"No, sir," I whispered.</p><p>"Very well." He shooed me with his hand. "You may go." He turned to look at Carmelo and Vincenzo. "Ragazzi, lasciatelo andare."</p><p>Carmelo and Vincenzo looked between them, surprised.</p><p>Giovanni raised his head a bit. "Siete sordi, ragazzi?"</p><p>Reluctantly, Vincenzo let go of my wrists. Carmelo lowered the knife. Not quite believing my luck, I merely stared at Giovanni.</p><p>"Well?" he said, smiling slightly. "The door to the inn is up the stairs. I can't imagine you've forgotten the way already."</p><p>Numb, I turned, about to go back up, when: "Oh, mio Dio, I nearly forgot." My gaze whipped back to Giovanni, who was getting up. The girl next to him swiftly went to one of the stone walls and retrieved a cane. I noticed with deep surprise that she wore pants rather than a skirt. She brought it to him. "Grazie," he said, and she nodded. Limping, but sure-footed, he went to Carmelo, reached into the bag, and retrieved a handful of coins. He held them out for me.</p><p>I gaped at him.</p><p>"What?" he asked. "You said you were hungry."</p><p>Hand shaking, I took the money from him. I started up the stairs.</p><p>"Wait another minute."</p><p>I whirled.</p><p>"I wasn't finished." He rested both hands on the cane. "Before you go, would you care for a bath? And dinner, perhaps? Maybe even a night in one of my many fine beds?"</p><p>My mouth felt like cotton was stuffed inside of it. "What...why?"</p><p>"Because, dear boy, you smell. Quite badly. And you just said you are hungry." He cocked his head. "Care for a stay at the Fox Den Inn?"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0046"><h2>46. The Prisoner</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>Shortly thereafter, I claimed that I was sleepy. Erik was more than happy to put me to bed. As he walked me to the bedroom, I heard Ibrahim wolf whistle and say something excitedly in Persian. However, when Erik returned to the parlor - rather than stay with me in bed - I heard the Grand Vizier express extreme, drunken disappointment.</p><p>I fell asleep as soon as the bedroom door was closed.</p><p>At some point during the night, in the foggy worlds between waking and dreaming, I felt cold hands pushing hair behind my ear. I felt a soft kiss against my cheek. Then I heard the hidden bookshelf door open and close.</p><p>And in the morning, I felt the most terrible mortification.</p><p>I expected that I'd have a headache, or feel nauseous, but I felt surprisingly fine. Sane once again. I looked to my right; Erik wasn't there. In fact, his side of the bed was neatly made. I wondered if he'd slept there at all. I pulled the covers off of me, finding that I was in my Rose outfit. This would be the third time in twenty four hours that I woke up in these clothes.</p><p>I exited the room to find Erik and Ibrahim on the couch, both drinking coffee, a breakfast laid out in front of them. Erik was leaning back in his usual foot-over-knee pose, watching Ibrahim, who was hunched over and seemed to be nursing a headache.</p><p>I put my head down, not wanting to look at either one of them at the very clear memories of what I'd said and done. This wasn't like alcohol, where some things were lost to me. No, I remembered it all.</p><p>I doubted they wouldn't see me, but a part of me still hoped, as I made my way around the couch and toward the study-</p><p>"Good morning, Christine."</p><p>I pursed my lips, reaching the study door. "Good morning, Erik." I opened it.</p><p>I took my sweet time changing.</p><p>And when I was done, I decided to simply brave the inevitable and sit across from Erik and Ibrahim. My face cast down, I looked at Erik out of the corner of my eye. "Sorry about last night."</p><p>"No need," he said softly.</p><p>I looked at him fully.</p><p>He wasn't smiling, but he didn't look angry anymore, either. "I have tried hashish. I don't care for it. I refuse to drink more than necessary, and I will never try the ever-so-popular opium. I don't like the idea of being out of my mind. Seeing the two of you last night sealed that decision as the correct one." He smirked.</p><p>I blushed.</p><p>His small smile disappeared. "Besides, the last time I was given a mind-altering substance, I was a small child. I'm not sure what that doctor gave me, but I woke up in a place I...didn't like, and wouldn't be able to escape from for years. When you're not present in your own head, people can do whatever they want to you. I don't really find that comforting. So, no, Christine. Don't apologize. I wasn't angry at you, or embarrassed. I was unhappy that you were forced into that situation. As for this one-"</p><p>He nodded his head toward Ibrahim, whose eyes were closed. His hands were clasped together around a steaming mug, head still bowed. Without the cup in his grasp, it would look like he was praying.</p><p>"He made that choice himself," Erik said, tapping his forefinger on his mug. "Didn't you Ibrahim?"</p><p>The Grand Vizier grunted.</p><p>"How is that splitting headache of yours?"</p><p>"Not so terrible as my broken heart."</p><p>Erik sighed, and drank a sip of coffee. "That the Prince no longer loves you is merely speculation. You know that."</p><p>"I know him."</p><p>"Yes, you said that last night." But Erik's eyes had turned sad, sympathetic. He shook his head. "Drink your coffee, Vizier. It will help."</p><p>I looked at the broken man before me, remembering how he'd cried. How he'd called me a friend. "Ibrahim?"</p><p>He opened his eyes; they looked absolutely miserable, almost drooping and tinged pink. He looked at me, expecting.</p><p>"The Prince loves you, yes?"</p><p>"He did," he said softly.</p><p>"And I'm sure he still does." It felt odd, comforting the second most powerful man in Persia. "If he loves you, then I'm sure he will know it's just a misunderstanding. Didn't you tell him you visit Flowers? As a...as a precautionary measure? That he now thinks it's real is probably just misinformation... Didn't you inform him what you do?"</p><p>He looked down.</p><p>A pause, then Erik asked, "Oh, Ibrahim, you fool - why wouldn't you tell him of your imaginary exploits?"</p><p>He closed his eyes, tightly, and then shook his head. He put down his still-untouched coffee. On the table, I found that none of the breakfast was eaten. I found, also, a cup of tea waiting for, still steaming.</p><p>"You don't understand," he whispered. "Neither of you could ever understand."</p><p>"Not understand what?"</p><p>He sighed. "Listen - I know that the two of you are in love." He looked between us. "Tell me you are not."</p><p>Neither of us said anything. We only glanced shortly at one another.</p><p>"It's very apparent. Nadir knows, too. He tries to deny it. But you will never understand what it is like to have to hide that."</p><p>Erik sat up a little straighter, gaping incredulously at him. "I'm sorry - we will never understand?"</p><p>Even I felt a bit offended by that.</p><p>"No, you - ah-" He rubbed at his temples. "You are frustrating me. You don't understand. Really think about it, and you will realize that you will never understand. But you do not think about it. Yes, you are both chained to this palace. But I am chained, too." He swallowed, bringing his hands down. He gripped his pants - the same pants he'd worn last night. Had he slept here in Erik's chambers? Was that something he was allowed to do, or would the Shah care? How many tabs did he keep on the Grand Vizier?</p><p>"How are you chained?" I asked gently.</p><p>"Because," he explained, looking at me with dark brown eyes, "if you two leave here, leave for France - or anywhere on Earth - you do not have to hide your love. It is only here that you have to hide it. But I - it doesn't matter where I go. The Prince and I will never be able to show our love openly. Anywhere."</p><p>Slowly, Erik brought his mug of coffee down to the table, staring at Ibrahim like he was seeing him for the first time.</p><p>"You said that you like both men and women," I said. "Then why not..." But the words dropped off. I realized how insensitive what I was about to say sounded. To my dismay, however, Ibrahim picked up on my meaning regardless.</p><p>His eyes darkened. "Then why not choose a woman? Because, unfortunately, I did not fall in love with a woman. I did not fall in love by choice... And this is another thing - because the Prince knows that I can love women, that I'm capable of it, he lacks trust for me, too. That is why I did not tell him. So I am chained, you see, but my shackles do not keep me inside, as they do for you two. They keep me outside. Not quite accepted publicly, but not quite trusted privately. So where do I go? What do I do? I have to pretend. I have to keep secrets. From everyone."</p><p>He stood and continued, eyes wetting again, looking between Erik and me. "You think I like this life? Oh, yes, jovial Ibrahim. Happy Ibrahim. You think it's real? Nothing is real about me. Sometimes, really, I barely know who I am. I have spent my life pretending, and now I can't even see my own soul. This person that I pretend to be - I do not know him. It is as much a mask as the one you wear on your face, Erik." His face contorted. "Allah above, I need to vomit."</p><p>And Ibrahim left us there, sitting, dumbfounded, as he stumbled his way to the bathing room, knocking into the table as he went. His coffee spilled. Judging by the amount, I don't think he ever drank a single sip.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0047"><h2>47. The Scars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>"Care for a stay at the Fox Den Inn?"</p><p>My expression must have relayed my incredulity, for Giovanni laughed.</p><p>"You are not, of course, required to stay," he said, eyes glimmering. "You are welcome to leave any time. Try. Go. Walk away. Spend your hard-earned money. Watch as no one follows you."</p><p>I didn't move. When I spoke, my voice felt paper-dry in my throat. The fear inside me threatened to burn it away, but I forced the words out regardless. "Why would you offer me food when I tried to steal?"</p><p>"Wary of my intentions?"</p><p>"I haven't had much luck with hospitality, sir." I noticed the edge in my own voice. If he noticed too, he didn't seem to show it.</p><p>"Yes," he responded slowly, looking me up and down, "I can see that. Well-" He shrugged, removing one hand from his cane and stuffing it into his pocket; "if you are this untrusting of me and mine then, like I said, the door is up the stairs. And the streets of Venice are quite warm this time of year. I'd merely be careful of the rain. Arrivederci, Erik."</p><p>He watched me, as if waiting for me to leave. But I didn't. My heart raced. This had to be some trick. It had to be. But he was letting me leave. Why would he let me leave if-</p><p>"How much is a night's stay?" I whispered.</p><p>"I do believe I offered it free of charge."</p><p>"No, you didn't."</p><p>"Didn't I? Hm. I can't remember. Ah, well. Don't worry about it. Does the third floor suit you well?"</p><p>"No, I want to pay." If I was a paying customer, then at least he couldn't hold that over my head.</p><p>He sucked his teeth, but it was more amused than annoyed. "All right. Toss me one of those coins."</p><p>I picked up one of the silver pieces in my hand and threw it lightly at him. He caught it without looking, staring at me the entire time.</p><p>"Satisfied?" he asked, pocketing the coin.</p><p>I nodded. "I'd like to pay for the meal. And the bath as well."</p><p>"You realize that you're just giving me back my own money, yes?"</p><p>I didn't respond.</p><p>"Mio Dio, fine. Toss me two more coins."</p><p>I did. He pocketed those too, and then turned to the girl standing by the table. "Luciana."</p><p>"Si, Padre."</p><p>"Porta Erik nella stanza dodici al terzo piano."</p><p>She stiffened, and seemed to be avoiding looking at me. I felt embarrassed immediately. I made the assumption that he asked her to escort me, and said, "I can likely find it-"</p><p>"No." He held up his free hand, stopping my words. He continued looking at Luciana, hard. "Sono tutti sordi qui? Portalo nella stanza dodici."</p><p>She gave a very small nod. "Si, Padre."</p><p>Swiftly, she went past Giovanni, past me, and up to the ground floor. I took that as my queue to follow. She went to a desk by the door, one I hadn't noticed the first time, and reached into one of her pants pocket to retrieve a small key. She unlocked one of the drawers and brought out another, larger key. She locked up the desk and headed up the stairs.</p><p>She walked quickly, almost as if she wanted to lose me - not that it was likely. It was a large building, but not big enough to get lost in. The red papered walls were clean, dusted, and so were the oil lamps on the walls. The wood floors looked freshly polished, and the ceilings were perfectly white. Giovanni had called this a lair, but I wouldn't call it that - it was clearly well-kept and prosperous. What, exactly, were those boys doing with that money? They couldn't have been returning from the bank. It was far too late for that. Did he, perhaps, have multiple different establishments? Were they returning with the excess income of one of his other inns?</p><p>Luciana finally stopped at the last door on the third floor, a window with flowers on the sill on the far wall. She turned to me, blanched a bit at the sight of my face, and handed me the key. I couldn't help but notice, even as I kicked myself for it, how pretty she was. As soon as the key was in my hand, she bolted for the staircase. I turned the lock of the door and stepped inside.</p><p>The breath left my lungs.</p><p>A clean, neatly made bed. A small table in the corner. A dresser. A bookshelf with books, likely for guests to enjoy while in the room. Lamps on the walls. No dirt anywhere, tracked in from outside. No uncomfortable cot.</p><p>No cage.</p><p>According to Giovanni, I could leave anytime. But I'd paid, and right now, I wasn't sure that I wanted to go.</p><p>I went immediately to the books, forgetting my hunger and exhaustion. I picked one up, opened it, and - of course, I couldn't understand it. But I didn't very much care. I sprinted to the table and flipped through it for twenty minutes, savoring the feeling of pages in my hands again.</p><p>The door opened. I stood like a Jack-in-the-box, the chair scraping the ground as I did so. It wasn't Giovanni, as I'd expected. Instead, it was the brown-skinned man who'd crossed himself at the sight of me. He was holding a plate of food, veal and vegetables, just like Giovanni had been eating. In the other hand was a cup of tea. My stomach demanded the meal.</p><p>The man didn't flinch as he looked at me. He was now staring at my face like I appeared as any other person. He went to the table and placed the plate and cup down. "You eat," he said in broken French. He pointed to the plate, then to the door. "You bathe."</p><p>I understood - after I eat, I would bathe. I nodded, and sat back down. I waited for him to leave, but he didn't. Instead, he looked at me curiously and sat as well. Perhaps Giovanni wanted to make sure I didn't swipe his silver and china.</p><p>I took a long drink of tea, not caring how it burned my throat. I began to cut into the meat feverishly, when the man pointed to himself and said, "Salvatore."</p><p>I crossed my brows. "Excuse me?"</p><p>He patted his chest. "Salvatore."</p><p>His name.</p><p>I put down my fork and knife and patted my own chest. "Erik."</p><p>"Erik." He nodded. "Good."</p><p>I nodded and tucked in to the meal. He didn't say a word as I ate and drank, and I tried to pretend he wasn't there. I didn't like being looked at for long periods of time, but it was a small price to pay to not go hungry.</p><p>When the meal was finished, he stood and picked up the cup and plate. He nodded toward the door, looking at me, gesturing for me to follow. I did. We walked down two flights of stairs and into the dining room. I used my hands to hide my face from view as he took me into the kitchen. I kept my face down, too, around the cooks. He kept going until we reached a small room behind the kitchen. All that existed in this space was a round wooden bathtub.</p><p>Salvatore held up a hand. "Wait."</p><p>I did. Minutes later, he was returning with two enormous buckets of water, both steaming, and poured them into the tub. He went back and forth several times until the bath was filled with hot water. I turned to it, my back to the man, and felt as though I may drool. The last time I'd had a proper bath - not the sorry excuse of a washbasin inside a caravan - was when I was still in Boscherville.</p><p>Wanting badly to get into the water, nearly delirious with the need to be clean, I removed my shirt - and remembered with a start that Salvatore was behind me. I whirled to look at him, heart racing, frightened at the prospect of him seeing me partially naked - but he didn't seem shocked. No, actually, he didn't seem bothered at all. He didn't move to touch me - though a part of my mind feared that, I knew not every grown man wanted to harm me in that way.</p><p>What I did notice, though, was the way he looked at my many burns and scars. The ones I'd self-inflicted all over my chest and stomach and arms.</p><p>He breathed in slowly, deeply. "Who?" he asked, pointing to one particularly nasty cut I'd made across my chest. I'd done it when thoughts of Cerberus intruded into my mind - at how his death had been my doing; how if I'd simply complied with what Javert wanted, he'd still be alive.</p><p>I didn't say it was me. I felt too ashamed.</p><p>His full lips thinned. He sighed, and then pointed to himself. "Me."</p><p>I didn't understand. I was about to ask him to clarify, when he removed his own shirt. He was muscled in his stomach and chest, and when he turned around, I gasped aloud. Dozens of long, ugly, deep scars littered his back, raised and pink. He put his shirt back on and looked at me.</p><p>"Who did that?" I asked him, as he'd asked me.</p><p>"Master," he said lowly. "In America." He pointed to me. "Who?"</p><p>I was about to say that I did it. Myself. Me. But when the word "Master" slipped off my own tongue, I decided that it wasn't a lie. Had Javert been kinder, had he not subjected me to what he made me do, I would likely not have a single self-inflicted wound on my entire body.</p><p>He nodded knowingly, looking at me with a kind of kinship I hadn't seen since Marie. It was nothing like the affection with which she looked at me, but it was kind. Understanding. I felt almost guilty for it. I had only been captive for a few years. I knew of the slavery problem in America; I'd learned about it in my books. People were tortured, killed, worked to death. Children were separated from mothers. For all I knew, he could have been enslaved since birth.</p><p>He closed the door behind him, and I removed my pants - not before locking the door. My chest bare around him was bad enough - I would break apart in panic completely if he walked in to see me completely nude.</p><p>But as I stepped into the bath, I felt...safe. For the first time in years, I felt like things could be truly all right for a little while.</p><p>I closed my eyes, and the soothing feeling of the warm water led my mind to sleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0048"><h2>48. The Lesson</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy Halloween!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>We didn't see Ibrahim for another two weeks.</p><p>It was as though he simply vanished after being sick in Erik's bathing room. He didn't even say goodbye. He just left.</p><p>Erik began going to meetings again, bringing me with him to spend time with Reza upstairs while he sat with Nadir. Ibrahim didn't join. This annoyed the Daroga greatly - he'd gained one but lost the other - but there didn't seem to be much that Nadir could do. I think he seemed to remember that, when it came to the hierarchy of the court, the Grand Vizier did outrank him. He could moan and complain all he wanted, but he couldn't take many large steps if he wanted his secret meetings to stay that way.</p><p>When we were not at meetings, we were in Erik's chambers. I drew. Erik worked. We had lessons. And ten out of the fourteen days following my first time trying hashish, there was an execution. And at every execution, I was made to smoke.</p><p>I kept telling myself that it was fine, that the deliriousness only lasted a few hours, though it seemed like longer. And I kept telling myself that I hated that delirious feeling. It made me embarrassed to be in such a mindset. But a small, uncomfortable part of me was looking forward to that loose, giggly feeling.</p><p>I was starting to secretly crave it.</p><p>Erik refused to touch me or kiss me more than a hug or peck on the cheek while I was in my altered state, I usually simply went to bed after returning - and the night was stolen from us. The four days that there wasn't an execution, we fell asleep together, gripping each other, kissing deeply. Erik's hands and lips were feverish, urgent, like he knew it wouldn't be like this the next night, or likely the night after that. That it wouldn't be completely me he was falling asleep next to, and he was savoring the full, sober me while he could.</p><p>Most nights, deep into the night, I would again feel a kiss on my face and then hear the bookshelf door moving. I didn't think much of it.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>I was too foggy to think much of it.</p><p>It was at the two week mark that Ibrahim, at last, appeared.</p><p>Erik emerged from his study at around three in the afternoon. He walked around the couch I sat at, drawing and petting Ayesha, pulled me up to my feet, and greeted me with a gentle kiss, moving his hands to my cheeks, fingers in my hair. I gripped his arms as our lips connected. His mask was off. He didn't wear it around me anymore, not when we were alone.</p><p>He pulled away and kissed my forehead.</p><p>"Singing lesson?" I whispered.</p><p>He nodded his head. "Ready to start?"</p><p>"Always." I smiled. "I wait for them every day."</p><p>He smiled genuinely, stars in his green and brown eyes. "Me too." And he kissed my forehead again.</p><p>Erik took my hands softly in his and began pulling me toward the grand piano, when a knock sounded at the door. He closed his eyes, lines starting at the corners of them, frustrated. He dropped my hands and went stiffly into the study, retrieving his mask.</p><p>Another knock.</p><p>"Yes," he shouted. "I hear you!" He said something just as loud in Persian; I assumed he was simply repeating himself in that language.</p><p>Erik opened the door, and there Ibrahim was.</p><p>Smiling. Widely. His former self returned. A false self, as he'd said.</p><p>"Good afternoon, my friends!" He strolled right in, taking a seat on the couch opposite the one I'd been sitting at. Erik closed the door slowly, watching him wide-eyed, as the Grand Vizier leaned back, put his feet up, and crossed his arms behind his head in a relaxed lounge. I stared at him. Though he smiled and looked like he hadn't a care in the world, I saw that his bottom eyelids were colored a bit darker than the rest of his face. That the light didn't quite reach his eyes.</p><p>"Why do you stare, Rose?" he asked cheerfully. "Happy to see my face again?"</p><p>"Where have you been?" asked Erik, not sitting, standing by the table. "You haven't been to any meetings."</p><p>"Oh, you are one to talk, Angel of Death." He grinned. "You didn't go for an entire week."</p><p>"And you haven't been for two."</p><p>Ibrahim shrugged. "I am a bit useless there anyway. It's normally the two of you talking, while I interject with a suggestion you both ignore. I can see, though, how my absence has made it boring. For that I apologize."</p><p>"Ibrahim," I said softly.</p><p>He turned to me. "Rose?"</p><p>"Are you all right?"</p><p>It was a small movement of his face. A twitch of his eyes, his lips. Barely noticeable, were one not paying attention. But I saw it. Very slight. There one moment, and then replaced by a laugh. "Of course! Why would I not be?"</p><p>"Because you were sick with drunkenness in my chambers a fortnight ago," said Erik lowly, looking at Ibrahim with concern. As though he were drunk once again.</p><p>Ibrahim waved this away with a hand. "Oh, yes. I have decided that the Prince's business is his business. Who he chooses to love does not concern me. There are plenty of men and women I could go after. It does not matter if it is him."</p><p>"But you loved him," I said softly. I wasn't helping, I know. But something about Ibrahim's sudden nonchalance was making me uneasy.</p><p>"I did, but loss is part of life, yes?"</p><p>"But Ibrahim-"</p><p>"I'd like to stop talking about this now." He was still smiling, but it was a faux grin. A hard expression of not-joy, intense of eye, controlled. "I did not come here to discuss my love life."</p><p>"What did you come here to discuss?" asked Erik.</p><p>"Nothing."</p><p>"Nothing?"</p><p>"Nothing! Am I not allowed to visit friends?"</p><p>Erik watched him, thoughts clearly running through his brain. Then he shrugged at last. "Well, if you say you are fine, then you are fine. Right, Christine?"</p><p>He turned to me then, and I was about to protest that, no, I certainly did not think Ibrahim was fine - when a look in Erik's eyes made me pause. He seemed to be saying, "I know, Christine, but go with it". And when I looked back at Ibrahim, I could see, mixed into the veiled exhaustion and fake joviality, a pleading look. Like he knew as well as us that he was falling apart, but that he needed us to pretend with him. Despite how he'd raved two weeks ago that he hated pretending, he still wanted to.</p><p>Needed to.</p><p>"Yes," I whispered. "That's right."</p><p>Ibrahim nodded. "Excellent."</p><p>"Now, unfortunately, we were about to have our singing lesson." Erik crossed his arms. "Quite literally as you came knocking."</p><p>"Oh, yes! I would love to hear!"</p><p>I went white. "Wait, no."</p><p>"Why not?" Ibrahim cocked his head.</p><p>Erik looked at me curiously. "Yes, actually, why not?"</p><p>"Because...because..." I sputtered. But I knew if I said I didn't think I was good, Erik would take offense - whether because he found my voice beautiful, or because I implied he was a poor teacher. Likely, it would be both. I sighed. "All right."</p><p>"Perfect!" Ibrahim shot up out of his seat. "Let me use your facilities for just a moment, and I will be right out."</p><p>"Destroying my toilet again?" asked Erik as the Grand Vizier walked past him. "You should have seen the look on the poor servant girl's face when she saw what she had to clean."</p><p>"Not this time, friend! Just piss."</p><p>Erik looked disgusted. "Too much information, mayhaps?"</p><p>"You asked!" he said in the doorway, and closed the door.</p><p>As soon as he was out of earshot, Erik went to me and kissed me again, hard. I melted. When he pulled away: "I'm sorry we will not have privacy. I think...I think, though, that he needs us at the moment even if he will say he doesn't."</p><p>I shrugged. "It's all right. He's a friend. I want to be here for him, too."</p><p>A pause, while he looked at me tenderly, playing with one of my curls, twirling it around his long forefinger.</p><p>"What," he said then, "or rather, when, is your birthday?"</p><p>My eyebrows raised. "A bit random."</p><p>He didn't respond to that; he merely waited for my answer.</p><p>"November twentieth," I said finally.</p><p>He smiled slightly. "It's a good thing I asked. That's a little less than a month away."</p><p>My jaw slackened. "It's October?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>It was still warm - not hot, but comfortably warm - at least, it had been warm two weeks ago on the roof. I never went outside, other than that. I had no idea the time of year. It wasn't like in Paris, where I was outside every day, every night.</p><p>He kissed my forehead. "I think, then, if your birthday is so soon, I should begin thinking of a gift." He moved to transfer his kiss from my forehead to my mouth, when -</p><p>"Do you know my birthday, Erik?" Ibrahim.</p><p>Erik scowled. He didn't even turn to Ibrahim as he stood in the doorway, smiling widely at us. "No," he responded under his breath, "but I know your death-day."</p><p>Ibrahim laughed then, purely and without thought. No pretending in the sound. If for a moment, his happiness was real.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>While I sang, I tried to ignore Ibrahim sitting and watching. It was hard, though, when he kept interrupting to make suggestions - among the most brilliant were, "try standing on your head, I hear that helps you sing higher" and "try holding your nose to get rid of nasally sounds."</p><p>Erik called him a nuisance.</p><p>Ibrahim told him that "nuisance" was a terribly funny way of pronouncing "delightful sweet treat".</p><p>In all seriousness, though, the Grand Vizier - when I was done - told me that my voice really was pretty, and he complimented Erik on his teaching and piano-playing abilities.</p><p>And when he left, he hesitated before walking out the door. His eyes flashed a desperate, lonely emotion, before his lips smiled and uttered their goodbyes.</p><p>Erik kissed me again, then, and I tried to lose myself in him like I'd done many times before - but a nagging feeling of worry for Ibrahim wouldn't let me go. When Erik pulled away, his cloudy-eyed expression told me that he was feeling the same way.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0049"><h2>49. The Blade</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: Self-harm</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>A knock sounded at the door to my room.</p><p>I opened my eyes and bolted upright, forgetting for a moment where I was. I recalled the day before. Being offered a room. Being given a meal. A bath. Salvatore. Falling asleep in the tub. Then being awoken and escorted back up here, where fresh clothes were laid out for me. Several pairs. I changed and promptly fell asleep again.</p><p>I looked at the window. From the bright light shining in, I guessed that it was probably high noon.</p><p>A knock again. "Erik, are you there? Or have you decided to run away after all?"</p><p>Giovanni.</p><p>I rose from the bed - a very comfortable bed - and went barefoot to the door. I opened it. There he stood, with his cane, leaning on it. He smiled at me, black eyebrows raised almost to his salt-and-pepper hair.</p><p>"Well, good afternoon." He straightened. "May I come in? I'd like to talk to you."</p><p>I nodded and made way. He wore a cane, and had a limp. I could outrun him if this came to danger.</p><p>Giovanni entered, looking around the room as if examining it, as if it wasn't his own property. "How did you sleep?" he asked. "Oh, and you can close the door. This will be a private conversation."</p><p>Reluctantly, I did so. "I slept well."</p><p>"Good." He went to the table in the corner and took a seat. "Come. Sit. I want to discuss."</p><p>I walked tentatively to the other chair, across from him. I sat as well.</p><p>"I spoke to Carmelo and Vincenzo," he started, placing his cane against the wall. "You made many mistakes while attempting to steal."</p><p>I stared at him. "Sir?"</p><p>"Well, for one thing," he said, leaning back. "You never attempt a theft of that magnitude, not while there are more of them than of you. I don't care how fast or big you think you are. It rarely ends well."</p><p>I blinked. "I - sir, I don't-"</p><p>"No, the best thing to do is get up close, undetected, and pick pockets. Or, better yet, cause a distraction. Or wait for them to put the bag down and then take it, unnoticed. If you want to steal a large sum of money, it needs to be when the money is isolated."</p><p>I paused, a growing feeling of unease beginning in the pit of my stomach. "It sounds, sir, as though you have plenty of experience."</p><p>He grinned. "You might say that." He drummed his fingers on the table. "This is a thieves' den, after all."</p><p>I felt cold. "I see." That would explain the bag of money Carmelo and Vincenzo were carrying.</p><p>"Would you like to learn how to be a better thief?"</p><p>I stood, eyes widening. "I knew there was a catch."</p><p>His voice was calm. "No, Erik, there was no catch. I told you that you can leave anytime you'd like."</p><p>"And no doubt you will hold over my head the fact that I now know what this place truly is. No doubt you will keep tabs on me, making sure I tell no one. It will be that, or join you. Yes? Well, I know your kind. Publicly charming, privately cruel. You might think that keeping me here by threat isn't imprisonment, but a cage of invisible bars is still a cage."</p><p>He wasn't smiling anymore. He watched me, closely, for a few moments. Then: "Many before have reported this as a thieves' den, and many more will. The police know. I pay them off. They do not care. So long as I do not make too much noise, so long as I give them a cut of what I earn, they leave me be. In fact, they laugh at those who try to take this establishment down; they tell them to stop jealously conspiring against the hospitable, charitable Signor Billisi. You could tell the entire city, Erik, and it will not make a difference."</p><p>I didn't sit down. My body felt rigid.</p><p>"Now." He leaned forward. "It wasn't only the boys I spoke to. I spoke to Salvatore as well." He paused. "Did you know that that is not his birth name?"</p><p>I continued staring, silently.</p><p>"His birth name was Jacob. No last name. Just Jacob. Born onto a plantation in Georgia - the United States of America. Taken from his mother and sold to a different plantation when he was six. Sold again when he was twenty. His master, a multilingual traveler, took him all over Europe. It was in Venice that Jacob finally killed him, ran, found me. He chose to stay here, changed his name, and has been a masterful thief. A wonderful member of the family." He paused. "Did you know any of that?"</p><p>I shook my head. "No."</p><p>"Salvatore told me something last night," Giovanni continued, softly. "He told me that you had a master, too. That your master hurt you." He looked at my arms. "Let me see your wrist."</p><p>My arms locked at my side. "Why?"</p><p>"I will not hurt you," he whispered. He held out a hand. "Let me see your wrist."</p><p>I looked at his palm. "Why do you need to see it?"</p><p>"I want to look at it." When I didn't move, he removed his hand and went into his pants pocket, where he retrieved a rectangular piece of metal. He handed it to me. "Here. This is a switchblade. Flip the switch on the side and a very sharp knife will appear. If I attempt to hurt you, drive the knife deep into my arm. Go on. Take it. A bit of insurance for you."</p><p>Slowly, I reached out and took the metal. I switched the blade out, immediately feeling better. Safer. A knife in my possession again. Then, just as slowly, I placed my other wrist in his hand, keeping the blade in close by, a reminder for him not to try anything.</p><p>He pushed the sleeve gently back - as he did so, my heart pounded, and I saw with horror that he was looking for, and found, my cuts and burns.</p><p>"Salvatore," he said, staring at the wounds, "said that you told him your master did this. Is that true?"</p><p>I didn't respond.</p><p>"Or," he suggested, finally bringing his eyes up to mine, "is it true that you did this to yourself while in his care?"</p><p>"Care is not a word I would use," I breathed shakily.</p><p>He nodded. "No, I suppose that is the wrong word. Forgive me. French is not my first language." He nodded to my wrist. "Did you do this to yourself?"</p><p>"Why are you sure he did not?"</p><p>"Did he?"</p><p>A long pause. I wanted to lie. But the way he was looking at me, like he actually cared about the answer, didn't let me. "No."</p><p>"Hm." He let go of my wrist. "How many of these do you have?"</p><p>My heart beat hard. I didn't say.</p><p>"Are they all over your body?"</p><p>I nodded, very slightly.</p><p>"And this one-" He pointed to one of the cuts. I quickly moved the sleeve to cover the cuts and burns. "This looks fresh. When was this done?"</p><p>"Last night. Before I came here."</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"Because I hate myself." I'd never voiced it. It was true, of course, but I'd never said it out loud. I felt a lump form in my throat.</p><p>"And why," he asked calmly, "would that be?"</p><p>"Look at me."</p><p>"I am."</p><p>The tears sprang to my eyes. I wiped them away with a shaky hand.</p><p>"How old are you, son?"</p><p>Son.</p><p>My eyes widened at the word. "Twelve."</p><p>"A very young age to begin self-hating. I'm sorry." He looked at the blade, still pointed at him. "Do you hate people, too?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"Don't."</p><p>I nearly scoffed. "Excuse me?"</p><p>"Don't hate people."</p><p>"I think, sir, unless you've been through what I have, you don't have a right to tell me-"</p><p>"I have no idea what you've been through, Erik, and I never will. Not unless you decide to share. Even then, I will never understand, truly, the pain of it. But I've seen pain and cruelty too. I've hated myself, hated others. I've been angry. I've felt grief. More than you will ever know. But one thing that I have learned is that hating others - and hating yourself - does nothing but give those that you hate power over you. It lets those who made you hate yourself win."</p><p>I'd stopped breathing, listening to his every word.</p><p>"So be angry, Erik. Feel deep, burning anger. Feel grief, for all your life could have been but wasn't. But do not hate people. Love them. Love them even while they hate you. Prove to them that you are human - more human than they could ever be."</p><p>I lowered the knife.</p><p>"And as for your self-hatred - that may take more time. But promise me this. Should you ever feel the need to die, the need to end your own life, do not do so out of pain. Do not do so out of grief or loneliness or anger. If you are going to choose to die, die for something bigger than yourself."</p><p>I found myself sitting in the chair. I didn't remember lowering myself. I didn't remember allowing myself to cry, but my face was wet with tears.</p><p>He held out his hand again. "Let me see the blade."</p><p>I handed it to him, my fingers feeling numb.</p><p>And to my horror, he put the blade to his own wrist and cut. Deep. Blood pooled there and dripped onto the table.</p><p>My mouth went dry. "Why-"</p><p>"My thieves are a family in this home. And while you stay in this house, you, like all my guests, are family, too. All of us. So I see that you slit your wrist out of pain, I will slit mine to share the hurt. We will do so together." He handed me the blade. "Go on. Your turn. I will match every single one."</p><p>I didn't take the bloody blade. I only stared at it, dumbfounded.</p><p>"Why do you not continue? Do you no longer want to harm yourself?"</p><p>"I do want to." That was true. Too honest, I thought, but I didn't care. "Just not right now. Not while you're here."</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>I looked up at him, very gradually, and my words were small in my mouth. "I don't want you to cut your wrists."</p><p>"And I don't want you to cut yours. Yet here we are." He put the knife down. "Are you sure you don't want to? It really didn't hurt that much. I can continue."</p><p>I shook my head, more tears falling.</p><p>"Whatever you say." He shrugged. "But do me a favor and be honest. Tell me going forward when you decide to put a blade to your skin, so that I can do so as well. It won't do for you to bear that burden alone." He stood. "Now, would you like to learn how to be a proper thief or not? Whether you decide to work for me, or you decide to take your skills to the street and continue on your way, is of little consequence to me. I simply loathe the idea of someone having such...improper technique as you showed last night. Not when I had the opportunity to educate."</p><p>I felt too numb to truly think about it, but my soul must have wanted it, for I said, "Yes. I will learn."</p><p>"Good." He went for his cane. "Also, that book there, the black one on the top shelf-" He pointed. "That book has Italian-to-French translations. You'll have to learn backwards, but you seem intelligent enough to handle it until I can find a French-to-Italian book for you. I'll have to teach you proper pronunciations. But tonight, that is your first assignment. Learn fifty new words by tomorrow morning."</p><p>He picked up the switchblade, still slick with his blood, and flipped it closed. He pocketed it, and left me alone.</p><p>But even through the numbness, the tears that still fell, I felt somehow less lonely than before.</p>
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<a name="section0050"><h2>50. The Truth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>"Tell me about him."</p><p>I looked up from my drawing to see Erik gazing at me from the floor, where he sat with Reza in the boy's room, an hour after this morning's meeting. They had laid out about a dozen sheets of paper, and he and Reza were "painting". The Daroga's son had become fascinated with the idea of colors since that day we'd discussed them in my former room, and now he wanted to make colors himself, even though he couldn't see them. Erik would sometimes guide him on where to put the paintbrush, so as not to ruin the floor, but for the most part, it was creative, albeit blind, work on Reza's part.</p><p>I was in a chair in the corner, paper on a wide, thick book, a pen in hand, drawing a forest.</p><p>"Tell you about who?" I asked.</p><p>A flicker of emotion passed his expression. "Your father."</p><p>I paused, and then showed him the drawing. "I'm not depicting my father."</p><p>"I know." He looked down in time to see Reza's hand about to paint the rug, and moved it gently back to the paper. "But it reminded me..." He looked up again. "Tell me about him."</p><p>I wanted badly to ask him, again, if he knew Gustave Daae. But I felt, perhaps, he might shut down if I did. Of all the good elements of our relationship, this was one spot that caused me intense frustration.</p><p>"He is kind. Quiet." I thought. "Passionate about music." I paused, and smiled. "Sort of like you - well. Perhaps you're not quite so quiet. At least not when you get into your moods."</p><p>He cocked his head, narrowing his eyes, though they held amused interest. "My moods?"</p><p>"Yes. You know."</p><p>Just then, Parvana entered the room. She spoke to Erik softly in Persian. He nodded, but Reza groaned. He picked up his cane, which was laying close by, and followed her out the door.</p><p>When they were gone, and the door was closed, he stood and began picking up the papers. He watched me as he did so. "I don't know, actually. What do you mean, my moods?"</p><p>"You know what I'm talking about." I lowered my voice, crossed my legs in front of me, and relaxed myself. I raised an eyebrow and put on a small scowl. "'Oh, yes, Nadir. I'd love to go to a meeting and talk to only you for an hour or two. Haven't had a good vomiting in ages'." I returned to myself and shrugged. "Your moods."</p><p>His head threw back and he laughed, loudly, eyes closed, holding the papers close to his chest. When he opened his eyes again and looked at me, his expression held true delight. "Have you ever considered a career in the theatre? You'd make quite the actress."</p><p>I grinned. "You're not that hard to imitate. You're predictable."</p><p>His eyes widened, smiling. "I'm sorry?"</p><p>"You are."</p><p>"Oh, really?"</p><p>"Yes, really."</p><p>He went to me, placing the painted papers on the small table next to my chair. The tins of paint, paintbrushes inside them, were still on the ground, in the middle of the floor. He put both hands on either arm of the chair, leaned in, and kissed me. Softly, feather-light. But it sent shivers down my spine. He pulled away, mischief and affection in his gaze. "Was that predictable?"</p><p>"Very," I whispered. "But you know what would be truly unpredictable?"</p><p>"Hm?"</p><p>"If you kissed me a second time." I sighed, looking down. "I just...wouldn't expect it. It would be utter confusion - complete disorder."</p><p>And the chaotic madman that he was, he did kiss me a second time, but harder. He took his right hand and brought it to the back of my head, bringing me closer. His left hand went to my cheek, then lowered to my throat, my chest, then my waist. He brought his mouth away from mine and put it against the side of my neck. I put my hand over his fingers that lingered on my waist; my other hand went into his hair. I closed my eyes, very aware of my heartbeat in the spot he was currently kissing. If, for some reason, I never made it out of Persia, than I could stay sane if I at least had this: Erik loving me the way he was doing now. The way he did every day. If I could keep that, I would be content wherever I was-</p><p>"Ahem."</p><p>Erik pulled away as if forced back by an invisible rope. He whirled to the doorway, stiffening. I blushed as I saw who it was. The Daroga, watching us with a look of muted rage.</p><p>"Nadir," said Erik, and made a show of relaxing. "I didn't realize you were there."</p><p>"No, evidently not." He flicked his eyes between us. "Do you realize you're in my son's room?"</p><p>"Are we?" Erik looked right at the small bed, the toys, the folded children's clothes on the dresser. "Our apologies."</p><p>"I'm not fond of the idea of you...interacting in such a way in my child's room."</p><p>"Of course." Erik nodded his head, but I had a feeling of small foreboding at the gesture. It didn't seem genuine. In the next second, I found that I was correct. He continued, "Next time, we will interact in such a way in your own bedroom."</p><p>I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. I could feel Nadir's anger even from here, even without looking.</p><p>"Erik," the Daroga said lowly, "a word, if you please."</p><p>I opened my eyes to see Erik's shoulders slumping. Nadir walked away, through the hall. Erik paused only momentarily, and then followed. He closed the door, though not all the way. A crack, a small one. And judging by the footsteps, they didn't go far. In fact, I believe they stayed right in the hallway.</p><p>It was about ten seconds before my curiosity took over, my concern as well. I stood up and, silent-footed, went to the door. I put my ear to the crack, to listen. They spoke softly, nearly a whisper.</p><p>"...make more sense," said Erik, "to go into another room, if you want privacy."</p><p>"The hallway will do just fine. Reza is downstairs." Nadir.</p><p>"And Christine is right inside the room."</p><p>"Erik."</p><p>"She can probably hear what we are saying. In fact, I would bet my life she's listening right now."</p><p>"Then maybe she should hear."</p><p>"In that case, let's go back in there and speak freely in front of her." A pause. "No, I know, you want to maintain a level of decorum around her. You're angry, but far too proud to willingly lay into me, really lay into me, in the presence of a lady. But you keep the option open for her to hear anyway - because deep down, you want her to know how you're feeling. You're embarrassed enough for your behavior on the roof, for how you spoke that day in my chambers during the thunderstorm. But you still want her to know that you dislike seeing us together. Is that right, friend? Did I hit the nail on the head?"</p><p>"Have you told her?"</p><p>A long pause, and a feeling of unease grew in my stomach. Has he told me what?</p><p>"Well?" Nadir asked again, coolly. "Have you?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Ah. There it is. And by not saying anything, you are hurting her in the long run. And by focusing on her in the present, you are forgetting what you made a vow to do."</p><p>"I'm still doing what I vowed to do."</p><p>"Are you?"</p><p>"Yes. I work on it every day."</p><p>"And when the time comes, will you still be ready to-"</p><p>"Yes, Nadir, I will. I told you. I tell you every time you ask." He paused. "Have you spoken to Ibrahim like this? Or do you only speak to me in this way because I have little power?"</p><p>"Ibrahim is drinking himself into a stupor day and night - apparently, he's told the Shah he's sick, and luckily, the Shah hasn't yet questioned it. But it's some sour business with the Prince. It will calm down, I'm sure. And his part in this is not nearly as important as yours."</p><p>My head was spinning. Erik was hiding something from me. Ibrahim was drinking. I leaned against the wall, feeling suddenly faint.</p><p>"Is there anything else?" Erik hissed.</p><p>"No." Shuffling of feet, and he spoke louder: "Goodbye, Christine."</p><p>I hurried back to the chair and sat, bringing my knees up.</p><p>Erik opened the door fully. I stared wide-eyed at him, and he refused to look at me directly.</p><p>My mouth was dry. "What have you not told me?"</p><p>He closed his eyes.</p><p>"Erik." My heart was beating hard. I felt trapped all over again. "Erik, what are you hiding?"</p><p>His eyes opened again and went slowly up to mine. "Christine-"</p><p>"First you won't tell me how you know my father," I said shakily. "Now you won't tell me...something. I don't know what it is. But what is it? Please."</p><p>He watched me for a long time, and then said, "When I was small, I was forced to perform in a sort of freak-show. I sang. I danced. I had to show my face."</p><p>My heart stopped, and after a few moments, it broke. "Oh...Erik-"</p><p>"I think it was your father who tried to save me from that place." His voice was soft, low. He looked away. "But I'm not sure." His hands clenched. "Did he ever discuss something like that with you?"</p><p>"No," I whispered. "He didn't."</p><p>"Then it may not be him. How many Swedish musicians are there in Paris?"</p><p>"As far as I know, just my father."</p><p>He nodded slowly.</p><p>"I'm sorry, Erik." The image of him, a child, forced to show his face to a crowd, to perform like a monkey, brought a swell to my throat. "I'm so very sorry that happened."</p><p>He shook his head. "It's in the past. It's over." His eyes went to me again. "As for what I am hiding..." He swallowed. "You will hate me."</p><p>"I won't."</p><p>"You will."</p><p>I shook my head. "No, I won't."</p><p>A long, long stretch of silence. Too long for my liking. I nearly spoke again, when he said, "I am building a torture chamber. A terrible, despicable, violent one. At the Shah's request."</p><p>I listened, not daring to move.</p><p>"And Nadir wants me to hurry in finishing," he continued, "because he plans to torture the Shah within it."</p>
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<a name="section0051"><h2>51. The Volpi</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>Giovanni was originally born in Sicily. This explained his darker complexion - darker than the other citizens of Venice. His parents were travelling bakers, moving between territories - all the way up to, eventually, Venice. When an illness befell them during his childhood, taking their lives, he was forced to the streets - and forced into thievery as well. But he worked hard to be educated regardless - reading (stolen) books by day and picking pockets by night.</p><p>When he was sixteen, he charmed and fooled his way into a dishwasher position at the Fox Den Inn, then cook, then chef. By twenty, his pleasant mannerisms awarded him a position as treasurer. And when his innkeeper master died, childless, unmarried, and feeling a fatherly affection toward his employee, he passed the deed to the place to Giovanni.</p><p>He told me he got his scar from a kitchen accident. He said that he broke his leg falling down the stairs. I didn't quite believe this, but I didn't press it, either.</p><p>Over the next six month, most of my time was spent with alone or with him, in my room, learning Italian. Because I didn't want to leave the room without a mask - and felt too imposing to ask for one - I requested a wash basin. I didn't feel trapped here. I liked the solitude. The fact that I knew I could leave at any time kept it from feeling like a prison.</p><p>By the end of six months, due to my hermit-like study habits, I could speak Italian as well as anyone.</p><p>Giovanni was impressed. He'd been impressed ever since that first day, when he'd asked me to learn fifty words by the next morning. I didn't learn fifty words. I learned three hundred - and could have learned more, but I had to eventually sleep and eat.</p><p>And with new language came new books. I could now read any book I wanted in the bookshelf there, and when I finished some, Giovanni would bring me more.</p><p>And though I hated nonfiction, there was one subject that began interesting me greatly: engineering. The science of making things work. I wasn't sure if it was simply curiosity, or if it was the idea of making something rather than tearing things apart, that fascinated me. But I begged for those books - any book on engineering he could find. And, too, anything related. Mathematics. Chemistry. I wanted to understand how to create.</p><p>When I told him after two months how much I loved music, he surprised me the next day with a new, porcelain mask - a piece of clothing I hadn't worn since the day I was caught by Carmelo and Vincenzo. He brought me downstairs, down to the cellar, to show me a new furnishing he'd purchased; Salvatore and Carmelo played cards at the table and watched my eyes with interest.</p><p>A piano. A grand piano.</p><p>I hadn't known how to react. But when Giovanni saw my hands shake and eyes close against tears, he shooed the two from the room - told them to make themselves busy upstairs, see to guests, whatever else.</p><p>They obeyed.</p><p>He asked me if I knew how to play, and I responded that I did. I sat down at the bench and recalled a piece that Marie and I played all the time, as though it were yesterday. As though it hadn't been four years since I'd last heard piano music.</p><p>In the middle of the song, Giovanni's harsh voice cut through the sound as he yelled in Italian: "Boy! Get your ass back upstairs!"</p><p>I turned to look - Carmelo was watching us with wide eyes. He looked between us. "Sorry, Father - but he plays so well!"</p><p>"Carmelo-"</p><p>"If Erik says I can stay, can I?" he asked, taking a step down rather than up. I noticed again how boyish and light his features were - bright brown eyes, and even when his mouth wasn't smiling, his face seemed to anyway.</p><p>Giovanni turned to me. "Do you mind that my son stays and listens?"</p><p>I shook my head.</p><p>"All right, then." He waved Carmelo down, who stood on the side of the piano. It made me nervous, but I chose to ignore it.</p><p>I began to play again, when-</p><p>"How old are you, Erik?"</p><p>I didn't quite meet his gaze, remembering what he'd said about me the night he brought me here. That I was molto brutto. Very ugly. "Twelve," I responded.</p><p>"A year younger than me, then!" He smiled widely. "Where did you learn to play?"</p><p>"Carmelo," warned Giovanni, "if you are to stay down here, then you will behave yourself. Control your boundless energy, for once."</p><p>Carmelo's shoulders drooped. He nodded. "Yes, Father."</p><p>I began to play again, and this time I closed my eyes. Time passed, and I let myself get lost in the music, feeling its-</p><p>"I wish I could play like that."</p><p>"All right, boy," said Giovanni lowly, "go back upstairs."</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>I asked Giovanni often when I would start learning to be a thief. He told me when he felt I was ready to join the family. The Volpi, the Foxes. Right now, he told me, he was giving me time to heal.</p><p>And I was grateful for it.</p><p>I kept waiting for him to tell me that it was time - learn or leave. But he never did. He watched and waited, but didn't show any signs of impatience. It was jolting how little he seemed to care what I provided for him, as though it was me he found value in, rather than whatever skills and work I could give.</p><p>But then some time before I turned thirteen, I heard a knock on my door. Late into the night. Extremely late. I put my book down on the bed where I'd been sitting, put on my mask, and went to the door. I opened it to find Carmelo standing there, grinning widely, eyes alight.</p><p>"Stay quiet," he whispered, pushing into my room. I stared at him with wide eyes, unsure whether to close the door or not. He looked at me, and as though he had read my mind, waved with his hand to tell me to give us privacy.</p><p>I did so, and took a step toward him as he went to the middle of the room. "Carmelo?"</p><p>He spotted the bookshelf and whistled lowly. "My God, you do read a lot. Too much, I'd say. Far too much. You read that much, and you'll never have time for anything else."</p><p>I looked at the bookshelf, and then back at him. And, I know it was irrational, but the fact that he'd just now invaded on my space, only to tell me how to live my life, sent a wave of annoyed anger through me. "It's funny - I don't remember asking."</p><p>His eyes whipped to mine in astonishment, and then amusement. "Oh, yes, with a tongue like that, you will fit in quite nicely." He turned to me fully. "I have a request."</p><p>I crossed my arms. "Yes?"</p><p>"I want to learn how to play piano."</p><p>I blinked. "Oh, no. I am not going to teach-"</p><p>"In exchange, I have a skill to teach you."</p><p>That piqued my interest. I uncrossed my arms. "All right... Let's hear it then."</p><p>He smiled. His lips didn't move. But I swore I heard his voice in my ear. 'How would you like to throw your voice like a ghost in the shadows?'</p>
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<a name="section0052"><h2>52. The Mirror</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>Images of hard, cold, black metal flashed through my mind. Of sharp, rusted objects. Of stone rooms, damp with dew and blood, filled with agonized screams.</p><p>"A torture chamber?" I whispered.</p><p>He didn't move. His eyes watched me steadily behind the mask.</p><p>"As in," I continued, "like...like a dungeon?"</p><p>"I see you like medieval stories as much as me," he said, but there was no humor.</p><p>"What kind of torture chamber?" I asked. I felt entirely cold.</p><p>He didn't respond to my question, not directly. "You do hate me."</p><p>"No."</p><p>"You do."</p><p>"Stop," I whispered. "I don't." But I couldn't explain the chill that passed through me. Perhaps it was merely... "I don't like that you have to do it. And...and I don't like the idea of torture."</p><p>"Neither do I," he breathed. He pursed his lips and gazed down. "Why do you think I've been stalling?"</p><p>"But it's to kill the Shah?" I clarified. "Just to kill the Shah?"</p><p>"Yes, but the Shah doesn't know that."</p><p>"Obviously."</p><p>He smiled without joy. "Yes. Obviously."</p><p>A small silence, like a brick barrier between us. I didn't care for it. "What kind of torture chamber?" I asked again, finally bringing my legs down.</p><p>He shut his eyes for a moment, tightly.</p><p>"Erik," I said.</p><p>He opened them again.</p><p>"No more secrets. Please."</p><p>His gaze saddened, and he nodded very slightly. He went to the ground and sat, cross-legged. "No more secrets."</p><p>But he didn't continue right away. I could sense his hesitation, his anxiety, like an insistent tug against me in his mind. It was himself he was fighting now. I could see the war raging: he felt he may lose me either way, but couldn't quite decide which way would be more dignified, less painful.</p><p>I left the chair and sat as well, across from him. I took his hands. He looked at me, eyes shining. I smiled. "I will understand. I understand now. Your will is not your own in this - I know that."</p><p>He lifted my hands and kissed them softly. Yet, he still said nothing.</p><p>"Your will wasn't your own when you were a child forced to perform," I added, and he winced slightly. "Don't you realize I know that?"</p><p>"I know, Christine." He lowered my hands. "I was ashamed. That's all."</p><p>"But why? I would have thought no differently of you."</p><p>"I don't want you to know me as a boy in a cage." He frowned. "I told you I was almost raped. But that is a key word: almost. I wasn't. But I was trapped for years with a man as cruel as the Shah. And your father saw me -" He paused. "I didn't want to tell you because the person I am is shameful enough already."</p><p>"That's not true," I insisted. "I don't think you're shameful. Do you think it's shameful that I'm a...a love-slave?"</p><p>"No," he said immediately.</p><p>"Then it wouldn't be fair for me to think ill of you."</p><p>He stared at my hands as he spoke: "I am designing a room of mirrors."</p><p>I listened.</p><p>"It slowly heats up," he said. "Slowly, gradually, until it is unbearably hot. The only way to end the torture is to hang by the neck from a rope on an iron oak tree."</p><p>I felt chilly all over again.</p><p>"Before it is officially used," he continued, "the Shah wants to look at it. He said so himself. Surrounded by guards, of course, so that no funny business takes place and we don't roast him alive."</p><p>A pause. "But," I said, hands still in his, "you do plan to roast him alive."</p><p>"Yes." He looked to the door of the room, to where Nadir existed somewhere beyond. To where all of those meetings took place several times a week. "That is one of the many puzzles that we meet to discuss."</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>The rain pattered gently against the window of Erik's - our - bedroom. No thunder tonight. Just a soft wind that whistled and the dripping of water against glass.</p><p>It was a particularly strong gust of wind, combined with Erik rising from the bed, that woke me. I thought, perhaps, he was going to use the bathing room. Or perhaps get a drink of water. But then he kissed my cheek, my eyes still closed, and I heard once more the sound of the bookshelf-door.</p><p>There had been no execution tonight, a month since I'd first tried hashish. Two months since I'd been gifted to Erik. Time had flown, as had my mind all those nights I was under the influence - an influence I now fully enjoyed. If I was forced to do it, I reasoned, I may as well like it. But tonight, I wasn't foggy. This time I was clear.</p><p>I sat up. "Erik?"</p><p>My dark-adjusted eyes found him standing, back to me, in the doorway to Echo Hall. He didn't move.</p><p>"Erik," I whispered, "what are you doing?"</p><p>He didn't turn around for several seconds, and I thought perhaps I was dreaming, when he faced me. "No more secrets?"</p><p>"No more secrets," I responded.</p><p>"Then I have a secret to tell you. To show you." He held out his hand for me. I pulled back the blanket, stood, and went to him. I took his hand.</p><p>"What is it?"</p><p>"The Khanum," he said, before pulling me into Echo Hall and closing the door, "is not mad."</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>Ten minutes later, the Hall was lit by sudden light, streaming in through a large square opening.</p><p>No.</p><p>Not an opening.</p><p>A glass wall.</p><p>'A two-way mirror,' Erik told me with his voice trick.' We can see in, but they cannot see us. They see a reflection.'</p><p>They, apparently, meant the Khanum with two of her harem ladies, within her bedroom. The Shah's mother was currently yelling, crying, at a an empty chair. Her ladies were attempting in vain to calm her fit, but to no avail. She paused, as though she suddenly had peace.</p><p>I saw Erik's throat work, his mouth remaining closed.</p><p>And then the Khanum screamed anew. She picked up the incense burner that presently smoked and threw it at the chair, shattering the ornate pottery, sending ashes to the floor. I nearly yelped, but remembered where I was.</p><p>'I can change my voice to sound completely foreign,' he whispered in my ear, and the next words didn't have his vocal tone at all; it was too low, too harsh, too raspy - even his Angel persona was more beautiful than this, 'so that it does not sound a bit like me.'</p><p>Understanding gripped me, and I nearly gasped aloud. But at the understanding, I didn't feel badly for the Khanum. I felt something foreign to me: devilish glee. Pleasure at someone else's pain. For all she'd done to others, to me, to Erik. I felt such malicious joy.</p><p>Then Erik's voice in my ear again. 'The voice she hears while I perform, and late at night, is not in her mind. It is mine.'</p><p>God help me: I couldn't help but smile.</p>
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<a name="section0053"><h2>53. The Dragonfly</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: Mention of self-harm</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>My wounds healed. The many scars and burns I'd self inflicted became thin white reminders of what my life had once been, but was no longer.</p><p>I had access to the kitchen. To the knives. Likely, no one would have stopped me should I have asked to borrow one. But those weeks after Giovanni made me promise to tell him when I cut my wrists, I couldn't do it. I'd have to tell him. I couldn't live with myself if I did it and didn't tell him. But I also couldn't live with myself if I did tell him. So with no clear answer, I simply resisted the urge.</p><p>And, eventually, I didn't need to resist at all.</p><p>Every so often, a flicker of desire to see my own blood, or to feel the searing heat on my skin, would rise. But it was easily brushed aside now.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>Carmelo, over the following weeks, taught me how to throw my voice. We started small - close range, mouth open. Then we added distance. Then we closed the gap between my lips. Within a month, I'd mastered it - able to keep my mouth closed while speaking directly into the ear of someone across the room.</p><p>Giovanni's son, the day I was able to do that, simply demanded that I spend the evening with his "friends". Vincenzo. Luciana. When I heard their names, I balked, nearly refusing. But when he mentioned that Salvatore would be among them, I reconsidered. If Salvatore was there, I could at least ignore everyone else.</p><p>"Will Giovanni be there?" I asked.</p><p>"My father?" He twisted his face. "No."</p><p>I raised my brows, sitting on my bed as he sat upon a chair backwards, legs on either side of the chair's back. He was rocking back and forth - when he'd first begun coming to my room, sitting and rocking like this, I'd asked him to stop as his constant motion made me dizzy. He appeared momentarily sheepish, as if this was something he was berated for often, and ceased. But when he continued the next day, I decided that this may simply be his nature - and I felt, honestly, quite badly for trying to put an end to it.</p><p>He interrupted often. He fidgeted constantly. He sometimes forgot what he was talking about. He went through a thousand topics in minutes, or he couldn't stop focusing on one particular subject for hours on end. His mind was like a dragonfly - beautiful, large, and constantly buzzing. In some ways, I admired it. In a lot of ways, I resonated with it.</p><p>"You seem...perturbed by the idea of your father being there," I said softly.</p><p>"Well!" He leaped from the chair and turned his back to me. "Perhaps it wouldn't be so if he weren't a spoil-sport constantly." He whirled. "Don't tell him I said that."</p><p>"Why would I?"</p><p>"Because I know he visits you. You're the son he never had."</p><p>I froze. "You're his son."</p><p>He looked away. "Right." He paused, a flush entering his face, and then he shook his head. He threw his arms up and went to me. "Anyway! Will you be joining me or will you not?"</p><p>I stood. "I will." I sighed. "But if anyone says a word about-"</p><p>"Oh, no, don't worry. No one will be mentioning your ugly face." He hit me very lightly on the shoulder. When I didn't react, he tried again. "Your...beautiful face?" He hit me again, with much less conviction, and even more softly. "Your...normal face?" He hit me again, much slower and-</p><p>"Please stop," I said.</p><p>He nodded quickly and beelined for the door. He opened it wide and grinned back at me. "Shall we, then?"</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>"Oh, well, Luciana, that's because you're a girl."</p><p>We entered the cellar from the stairwell into, in my opinion, madness.</p><p>Luciana stood, hands on the table, glaring at a smirking Vincenzo across from her. Salvatore shuffled cards between them, shaking his head and smiling.</p><p>"Say that again to my face!" demanded Luciana, long brown hair tumbling down her back; in pants like I'd seen her that first day.</p><p>"All right." Vincenzo leaned back, making the front two legs of his chair lift off the ground. "Your father never sends you on missions because you are missing a crucial organ between your legs."</p><p>I balked. This was no way to speak in front of a lady-</p><p>Luciana pulled a knife from a sheath around her waist that I hadn't noticed before, pointing it at Vincenzo, who laughed. She reddened at the sound. "Then why don't I cut off yours and take it for myself?"</p><p>"Now, now!" Carmelo called, as I felt myself whiten behind the mask. He walked lazily into the room, and I followed. "You are both very beautiful girls."</p><p>They both glared at him, but Salvatore beamed. At Carmelo's comment, and at me. "Erik! You have come out of your cave!"</p><p>I smiled at him. The more I'd adjusted to Italian language, the more I noticed the accent in Salvatore's. An American accent, I guessed. "It seems I have."</p><p>"Good news. You will sit by me, then. Carmelo on my other side."</p><p>Carmelo went to sit between Salvatore and Vincenzo, which left me needing to sit between my friend and Luciana.</p><p>I cursed myself inwardly for agreeing to come at all. No doubt she'd be making awful comments, or worse, she'd avoid my gaze altogether, like I was some cur-</p><p>"I don't bite."</p><p>The words were soft, but directed at me, from her lips. She was watching me steadily, warily. I blinked. "I know."</p><p>She sheathed the knife and sat. "Then take a seat."</p><p>I did as was told, though felt entirely on edge.</p><p>For some unknown reason, just at the very presence of her, my heart was racing terribly. I didn't think I'd feel this way were I to sit next to Vincenzo, though both of them had turned stark ivory at the sight of me. So what was so different about her?</p><p>What was more, I had the terrible urge to look at her. Just look at her, for no other reason than to do so. But I didn't want to be stared at, and I doubted she did, either.</p><p>"My name is Luciana," she said then. Salvatore continued shuffling cards, and Vincenzo and Carmelo began into a conversation.</p><p>At that, I did look. And I nearly lost my words. She was so very pretty. I looked down again quickly. "Erik."</p><p>"I know."</p><p>"I know your name, too, Mademoiselle."</p><p>I peeked up again in time to see her looking at me strangely. "What did you call me?"</p><p>"It's French for..." I racked my brain for the right word. "Signorina."</p><p>She rolled her eyes. "Agh. No. Then just call me Luciana. 'Signorina' merely accentuates my gender, and I don't care for it." She paused. "I'm sorry for that night, by the way."</p><p>I was taken aback. "For...?"</p><p>"Looking at you like you were a ghost." She tilted her chin up. "It was unkind. I've been meaning to apologize, but..."</p><p>"It's all right," I whispered. "You're not the first."</p><p>A silence between us for a moment, then, "Well, I wish I was the last. Father tells me that you're a quick learner. So does Carmelo. Salvatore says you're kind. So I hope I will be the last."</p><p>As I looked at her, then, a warm emotion started in my core, mixed with a sudden, foreign desire. I was about to open my mouth again, to tell her my thanks, when:</p><p>"Erik."</p><p>I snapped my gaze to Vincenzo, who was still leaning back in his chair, shiny black hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. "Yes?" I asked. Carmelo watched us, and so did Salvatore. I imagine that Luciana did as well.</p><p>"I have something I've been wanting to say since that night as well."</p><p>Everyone waited, me especially.</p><p>"I've been wanting to say," he continued, and laid the chair's feet flat on the floor, "that you're a damned idiot for stealing from us the way you did, out in the open, with the two of us - well-rested and well-fed, against your scrawny ass." The corner of his lip tilted upward.</p><p>I glanced at Carmelo. "Well, he's the one who flashed that money out in the open."</p><p>Salvatore grinned, continuing to shuffle. I think, really, by now the deck was sufficiently mixed, but he persisted.</p><p>Vincenzo's handsome face regarded me with interest. He leaned forward and spoke softly. "Are you trying to imply that Carmelo is the idiot, and not you?"</p><p>I crossed my arms. "I'm not implying anything."</p><p>"Then-"</p><p>"I'm saying it outright." I'd have to apologize to him later, but for now- "Carmelo is a moron."</p><p>Carmelo gaped. Luciana snorted. And Salvatore nodded approvingly, staring down at the deck. Really, I wanted to say, I think it's well shuffled by now.</p><p>Vincenzo's reaction was the one that caught me by surprise. He sat up straight, genuinely smiling, and looked at the offended boy beside him. "You know," he drawled, "I rather like him."</p>
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<a name="section0054"><h2>54. The Birthday</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>It was an attempt to make her appear mad, he told me. To ensure that if her shrewd eyes suspected him of anything, of Nadir or Ibrahim, that no one would put true stock in her words. She's a madwoman. The Shah was suspicious enough of everyone that, if she did make accusations, it might not divert him, but it was something. To date, she hadn't suspected a thing - but insurance was insurance.</p><p>He apologized for what I saw, for what I now knew.</p><p>I told him it was fine, that it didn't bother me.</p><p>I asked him if that bothered him - that I felt a sort of satisfaction at watching the Khanum suffer.</p><p>He told me no.</p><p>He told me he felt the same way.</p><p>I decided that night that, perhaps, cruelty isn't something that is learned. Perhaps cruelty is innate in all of us - it simply demands the presence of others' cruelty to emerge. Maybe, then, the only way to end suffering is to squash those who might cause suffering. The idea of ending cruelty through love and peace is a beautiful idea, but fit merely for stories at bedtime.</p><p>And that's the great paradox.</p><p>To end cruelty, one must be cruel.</p><p>Then how does one ensure that the cruelty stops? If you destroy a cruelty, then you yourself are cruel, and so someone else must destroy you.</p><p>And so on, forever.</p><p>So how does it stop?</p><p>The only solution I could think of, before drifting off to sleep, was that to truly end cruelty...</p><p>The cruel must destroy themselves.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>A week later, Erik awoke me with a kiss.</p><p>I hummed happily against the touch, eyes still closed.</p><p>He moved his lips to my cheek, kissing it gently, before whispering, "Happy birthday, my darling."</p><p>I opened my eyes. "Oh!-"</p><p>"I got you a gift." He pulled away and smiled at me. "Would you like it?"</p><p>"A real gift?"</p><p>"Mhmm."</p><p>"You haven't left the palace - I think, at least-"</p><p>"I haven't." He leaned up his elbow, gazing with love at me. "Nadir retrieved it for me. He says happy birthday."</p><p>I sat up fully. "Nadir did?"</p><p>"Yes." He smirked. "Shocking, I know. I thought for sure he'd refuse. But it seems it's me he's cross with, not you. He actually does like you - me, on the other hand-"</p><p>"He doesn't act like he likes me."</p><p>"Think of how he treated you before he caught on to my feelings for you." He sat as well. "So fatherly. Don't you remember?"</p><p>"I do." I paused. "But I am nervous around him."</p><p>"Don't be."</p><p>But I couldn't help it - I couldn't help feel that Erik was wrong. That Nadir saw me as a thing in the way, as a barrier between him and what he wanted. That, perhaps, he might do something to make me go away, but whatever means necessary.</p><p>I shook the thought away.</p><p>"Well, then?" I smiled at him. "Let's see this gift."</p><p>Erik leaned in to kiss me, pulled the covers back, and went to his dresser. From the top shelf, he rummaged underneath his clothes and pulled out a silver box. He went to me, moving swiftly, and say. He handed the box to me.</p><p>"Open it." He nodded to the container. "Go on."</p><p>But I didn't right away. Smiling, I moved my thumb, extremely slowly, toward the small latch that kept it closed. I took as much time as I could unlatching it, so much time that Erik's patience grew too thin. He unlatched the box himself and opened it.</p><p>I let out a laugh initially, and then it caught in my throat as I saw what was inside. A necklace, made of shining silver like the box that contained it, and the pendant held a beautiful sky-blue stone, shining in the sunlight that streamed in softly through the crack in the curtains.</p><p>"Erik..." I breathed.</p><p>"It's topaz," he explained, looking at it. "Like your eyes."</p><p>"It's lovely." I looked at him. "You didn't have to do this."</p><p>He regarded me gently. "Do you like it?"</p><p>"I love it." I kissed him on the cheek, and I swear I felt his entire being soften, relax, melt. "Can you put it on me?"</p><p>His eyes sparkled, pleased. "Of course."</p><p>I handed him the necklace and turned away from him. He placed the pendant at the front of my throat, and I moved my hair over my right shoulder to give him space to connect the small, fragile chain of the necklace. When I felt his hands finish their work, I turned toward him.</p><p>"How does it look? I asked.</p><p>He stared at the topaz at my sternum, turned his gaze to me, and kissed me. He pulled away a single centimeter and said, "You look absolutely ravishing. Like a queen."</p><p>"A queen?" I leaned back, smiling. "Really, now?"</p><p>"Oh, yes." He placed his thumb on the pendant, his other fingers resting on my collarbone. "Queen Christine."</p><p>"And what am I queen of?"</p><p>"The world." He moved his hand from my collar to my cheek, cupping it. I leaned into it. "Since that is what I desire to give you."</p><p>My heart hammered, and I flushed. "What does that make you?"</p><p>"Hm." He considered this. "I wish I could say something good, but... Unfortunately, I am still in the services of the Shah. A high-ranking servant, of sorts. You understand."</p><p>"You said I am the Queen of the World. Don't I override him?"</p><p>"Yes, I suppose so." He grinned. "Well then, great and powerful Queen, I would request that my services be transferred from the Shah to you."</p><p>"Certainly."</p><p>"Then, Your Highness," he said, bowing his head, "this life is yours. Do with it what you see fit. What, pray tell, is your first command, on this most important day, your day of birth?"</p><p>I moved my hand to his chin and lifted it, making him look at me - and in them I saw all the adoration in the world. I think my eyes held the same. "I want you to kiss me again."</p><p>Erik studied me, placing his hand over mine where it rested beneath his chin. "Is that all you desire? No breakfast in bed? No bath drawn for you? Just a kiss?"</p><p>I nodded.</p><p>"All right."</p><p>His lips were on mine again, hard and insistent. His hands went to my hair, and he pulled me down to the bed. The atmosphere became warm - too warm - and that persistent desire exploded inside me again. I wanted to touch him, so badly, but I knew he didn't want that. The last time, though, that we'd gone further than a kiss, he hadn't been opposed to-</p><p>I pulled away. "Can you touch me again?" I asked in a single breath, closing my eyes.</p><p>He didn't respond.</p><p>I opened my eyes, expecting him to be staring at me, but he was looking at my clothes instead.</p><p>"What's wrong?" I asked.</p><p>"You're in a dress," he explained. "It would require you to take the entire thing off - unless you'd like me to rip it in half, of course."</p><p>A beat. I reddened. "I can take it all off. I don't mind." Now he stared at me. "Do you mind?"</p><p>"I will still be clothed."</p><p>"I know."</p><p>A lengthy silence. I told myself not to be embarrassed, that he didn't think me loose. He'd already made it clear he did desire me, wanted me, but that he wasn't ready yet.</p><p>"If you're comfortable being without clothes," he said, very softly, "I will not be opposed."</p><p>I nodded. I stood and removed my nightdress.</p><p>I slept without underthings.</p><p>He breathed in deeply, and didn't seem to exhale.</p><p>I felt my knees go wobbly. I had to remind myself that my Flower clothes barely covered anything as it was, so really, being completely naked was a mere few pieces of cloth away from what he'd already seen. But his silence was, honestly, quite maddening.</p><p>"Is this all right?" I whispered.</p><p>He nodded very slowly, and with a shaky hand, patted the bed beside him.</p><p>Relieved, if only a bit, I laid next to him.</p><p>He didn't look at my body. He had when I'd gotten undressed, but now he focused on my face. He brought his lips again to my lips, and brought his hand to my breast.</p><p>A part of me had thought that being naked next to him would satiate that burning desire, but it didn't. Actually, it only made it worse.</p><p>"Erik?" I breathed against him.</p><p>"Hm?"</p><p>My voice was too small; I barely got the words out. I heard my heart in my eyes. "You can touch wherever you'd like."</p><p>He stilled, only momentarily. "Wherever?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"All right." He paused again. "If there is anywhere you do not want to be touched, tell me before I do."</p><p>"I do want to be-"</p><p>"I know. But still. Tell me."</p><p>I nodded. "I will," I whispered.</p><p>His lips found mine again. He deepened the kiss, his tongue finding mine. I melted into the bed, into him, into darkness. Into pure happiness.</p><p>And then his hand began to move.</p><p>Down from my chest. Over my stomach. And then rested between my legs, just over the lips there.</p><p>I whimpered, feeling myself tingle, turn wet.</p><p>He broke the kiss. "Bad?"</p><p>"No." I barely had air. "Good."</p><p>His hand, as it rested on me, trembled slightly. "Good." And then, as he continued his kiss, he slipped a cool finger between my legs. I gasped as it passed over a particularly sensitive area. "Good?" he said again.</p><p>I nodded quickly, now unable to speak.</p><p>But now he didn't kiss me anymore. He watched me, my face, my eyes, as he navigated with his finger the area of my body he'd now started to explore. Watching for my reaction when he moved to particular places. I think he decided, based on my gasps and whimpers, that that little area he'd passed over was the most sensitive. The most pleasurable. And after a small while, he made the choice to only focus there.</p><p>It wasn't long before a feeling of intense physical warmth erupted from my core and spread throughout my entire body.</p><p>I turned to water. I moaned and gasped against the absolute euphoria, clenching and loosening seemingly against my will. He kissed my temple as I fell apart and came back together.</p><p>He made that happen two more times before breakfast.</p>
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<a name="section0055"><h2>55. The Wolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>"Well, just because your fingers are ungodly long-"</p><p>I scoffed. "It's not my fingers, you dolt. It's the fact that you need to use your pinky finger, not your middle finger."</p><p>Carmelo shook his head. He was at the piano in the cellar, stiff-bodied, looking in frustration down at the keys while I stood by next to the instrument. "How am I supposed to remember all of this? It is impossible!-"</p><p>"It's not impossible," I said. "It merely takes practice."</p><p>"But to use all of your fingers..."</p><p>"Oh, yes," came a female voice from the staircase, "it sounds very productive down here."</p><p>Luciana. I stood a bit straighter, wiping invisible dust from my clothes, at her appearance. She walked down the stairs, grinning.</p><p>Carmelo rolled his eyes. "This is a private lesson."</p><p>I raised a brow behind my mask. "Since when?"</p><p>He frowned. "I don't want my sister watching and listening."</p><p>"Why not?" she asked. "Are you a terrible musician?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>She looked at me. My heart skipped a beat. "Is he a terrible musician?"</p><p>I paused, and then held up my thumb and forefinger very close together, leaving just a tiny bit of space between them. She laughed. At the sound, immense pleasure went through me.</p><p>Me. I'd made her laugh.</p><p>Carmelo growled at Luciana. "Can you please go?"</p><p>"No." She made herself comfortable at the table. "I don't think I will." She picked up an apple from the fruit bowl that rested on the surface and crunched into it, wiping her wrist against her chin at the juices that slid down. She chewed, swallowed, and smiled. "You can continue. I will remain quiet."</p><p>Just then, Vincenzo came barreling down the stairs. He looked at us three with wide eyes. "There you all are!..." he whispered roughly, and then put a finger to his lips. "Wolves."</p><p>Carmelo stood immediately. Luciana paled. I felt a chill. Wolves?</p><p>"I can stand with you three," said Carmelo under his breath. "I am old enough-"</p><p>"No," answered Vincenzo. "Your father explicitly asked me to tell you, Luciana, and Erik to hide." He hurried to a corner of the cellar, to a brown rug, a chair upon it. He moved the chair, pulled back the rug, and revealed a trap door. He opened up the door and motioned for us to follow. "Come. Hurry. They will be coming any moment."</p><p>Luciana didn't hesitate. She dropped her apple and went swiftly to the trap door, climbing down. Vincenzo nodded to me. I came close to the trap door, and was about to follow her down, watching as she looked back up from me from the darkness.</p><p>I turned to him. "What do you mean, wolves? What is going on?"</p><p>"I will explain later," he hissed through his teeth, anxiety on his face. "But for now, get in."</p><p>I obeyed.</p><p>Carmelo didn't.</p><p>"Really," he said desperately. "I can handle it."</p><p>"No."</p><p>"You're fifteen," he told Vincenzo. "Only two years older than me. And you were my age when he allowed you to-"</p><p>"No. Now get in there, or Giovanni will have not only your hide but mine as well."</p><p>Carmelo finally entered the trap door, and Vincenzo closed it behind us, leaving us in darkness. I heard him move the rug and chair, and then walk away.</p><p>I also heard Carmelo seething beside me, breathing deeply.</p><p>"Oh, come off it, baby boy," Luciana whispered harshly. "We were born the same exact day, and you don't see me complaining about hiding."</p><p>I blinked my surprise in the darkness. She was Carmelo's twin, a year older than me. Here I'd thought she was younger. She was so petite.</p><p>"Shut up," he retorted. "You complain about everything else. How you're not allowed to go on missions. The only reason you're being compliant is because Vincenzo is showing he cares about you by asking you to hide, and you like it, because you like him."</p><p>"I do not." Her voice was small - I could sense it even in the whisper.</p><p>"Yes, you do. More than that, you love him."</p><p>"Shut up." But it lacked confidence. She sounded guilty.</p><p>Jealousy sprouted in my core. I pushed it back down.</p><p>Carmelo had told me about Vincenzo after we played the game of cards altogether. Vincenzo was Romani - more commonly known by the term Gypsy, a word I was advised not to use around him so as not to cause offense. His family, his entire small clan, had been raided by a hateful group of Venetians in the outskirts of the city, and the police were no help. His mother fled with him. She found Giovanni's inn and asked for temporary lodgings, for sanctuary, until she could figure something else out for herself and her son.</p><p>Giovanni let them stay. For good. She offered to cook, saying she was excellent with food, and he agreed to this. But she grew sick. Vincenzo thought that it was due to homesickness, due to the loss of her family. Her clan. Now surrounded by the very race of people who'd taken her from the life she knew.</p><p>She died.</p><p>But Vincenzo stayed. He, like Salvatore, became a part of the family. Carmelo told me that thieves often came and went from the Fox Den Inn, some staying for years, some for only a few weeks. Right now, the numbers were limited to the Billisis, Vincenzo, and Salvatore. These members of the family were apparently the permanent members. And now there was me. The more time I spent with them, the more I hoped perhaps I would be permanent as well.</p><p>Of course, I'd have to start learning soon. I told Giovanni of Carmelo's instruction of voice throwing. He was pleased, and said that when I was ready, I'd go "into the field" to observe. I was still a bit nervous to do so, but my confidence on the matter grew with my comradery with my new friends.</p><p>But this, this business with the "wolves", whatever was going on now...this family had secrets I did not yet know of.</p><p>"What is happening?" I asked in the sudden silence.</p><p>"The wolves," said Luciana beside me in the inky blackness. It was the kind of darkness where the mind began filling it in with shapes and colors that weren't there.</p><p>"Who are the wolves?"</p><p>"Our father's enemies," said Carmelo. "Led by Mario Cardacci."</p><p>"A rival thief?" I asked.</p><p>"No." Luciana. "Not a thief. Just a very rich man. An aristocrat. But he has a small army of his own, men who act as bodyguards and soldiers on his behalf. His private little police unit."</p><p>"What does he want of Giovanni?" I asked in alarm.</p><p>"Mario was in love with our mother," explained Carmelo. "She chose our low-born father instead. Needless to say, he wasn't pleased. On our mother's passing during childbirth, Mario hired his own thief to collect a necklace that our father gave her on their wedding. It was his way of saying that our mother was rightfully his."</p><p>"That's cruel," I said coldly.</p><p>"Yes." Luciana shifted. "And now he comes here every half a year or so to collect payment from him for taking her from this world, as if it was our father's fault she died."</p><p>"Payment," I repeated. "Like money?"</p><p>"Exactly," she said. "And if he can't pay the full unknown amount, then he punishes him or his men - Vincenzo and Salvatore. If he can't pay any of it, he punishes all of them. The first time it happened, my father refused."</p><p>"That's how he got the scar. And the leg," explained Carmelo.</p><p>"Why doesn't he...fight back?" I asked. I felt icy, angry - someone was threatening these people who'd taken me in, and I wanted to hurt them. No, I wanted my family to hurt them, to defend themselves, and I wanted to help.</p><p>"Because though the police look the other way from us," he said, "two adults, a young man, and two - now three - children cannot best a small army in a fight. So our father treads carefully, paying him off or taking a beating when he can't."</p><p>My heart hammered. This wasn't fair. It was entirely outrageous. There had to be something they could do, I could do...</p><p>But what?</p><p>"...down here, gentlemen, and we shall talk like civilized folk, yes?" Giovanni's voice, along with what sounded like half a dozen or more footsteps.</p><p>"Now, Signor Billisi, you know why my men and I are here," said a silky voice in return. A chill went up and down my spine at how similar the tone sounded to Javert's voice. Sickly sweet. "We don't need to drag it out like this. I have a dinner to get to back at the house, you know."</p><p>"Oh? And no invitation for your old friend?"</p><p>"Unfortunately," said the silver tongue. "Now..." I heard a chair scrape, as if pulled away from the table. "I am looking for double what I asked for last time."</p><p>A long pause.</p><p>"Well? I am waiting."</p><p>"I cannot give you that, Signor Cardacci," responded Giovanni. "I can give you what I gave last time plus half of that, but not double. I will be left with nothing."</p><p>"So? Steal more. Isn't that what you do?"</p><p>"I cannot steal enough to replenish the loss in a quick enough time. And the inn does not bring as much in as you'd expect-"</p><p>"Then pay me what you can and choose one of your men to bleed."</p><p>A long silence again, then Giovanni said, "Mario, be reasonable."</p><p>"I am." A foot tapped. "You stole from me. Like the thief you are. And now you must give repayment for what you took. Choose a man. The African or the Gypsy. It matters little to me. But from one proud Venetian to another, I'd advise you to choose better company than these...types of people."</p><p>"I'm Sicilian, my friend."</p><p>"Then I retract my statement. You're practically African yourself. And it explains your pigment - dark like a Gypsy as well." He paused. "Choose a man. Or I will."</p><p>"I will volunteer." Vincenzo.</p><p>"No," whispered Luciana. Carmelo shifted uncomfortably.</p><p>"No, I will," said Salvatore. I pictured, then, Salvatore being beaten, and couldn't help picture Javert doing the beating. I felt a fiery rage.</p><p>"Fine." I heard Mario move out of his chair. "We will bleed them both."</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>Luciana tended to Vincenzo's wounds in his room. I tended to Salvatore's.</p><p>Part of me couldn't help picturing Luciana pressing a hot cloth gently on Vincenzo's bruised and cut body, and that jealousy went through me again. But talking to Salvatore and dressing his wounds took my mind off of it. Carmelo was acting as a runner, sprinting to and from the kitchen to get more water or cloths. Giovanni, on the other hand, was calculating ways to earn even more money, so that this didn't happen again.</p><p>But just from what I'd seen, I knew that it would never be enough. That if Mario wanted to, he would merely keep increasing the amount requested.</p><p>"This can't keep happening," I said to Salvatore, as I bandaged his arm.</p><p>Salvatore smirked, sitting on his bed. "You don't need to tell that to me. But we have few other options. Fight back too hard and the police will stop closing their eyes. Stealing from a small bank or pickpocketing passersby is one thing. Harming one of the most influential men in Venice is another."</p><p>"There has to be something," I whispered, looking at him. "This isn't fair."</p><p>"Well." He stood. "If you figure something out, let me know. Let us all know. I'm sure we'd love to hear."</p>
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<a name="section0056"><h2>56. The Book</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: sexual content</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>There was an execution on my birthday.</p><p>And every day after.</p><p>As such, upon waking, Erik and I were intimate in the way we'd been the morning I turned nineteen. As always, he refused to touch me while I was under hashish. He refused to touch me when we went to bed.</p><p>But a week after my birthday, we had a break from killing and smoking. No execution. We had the night to ourselves.</p><p>Erik took advantage of this.</p><p>He remained clothed. I wanted to beg him to remove something - anything - but wouldn't push him in that way. He'd expressed himself clearly on the matter, and I wanted to respect that.</p><p>We both stood near the bed, mouth to mouth, arms wrapped around one another. Every so often, I'd open my eyes to look at him, at his lovely face - lovely to me - in the golden light of the lantern. He never opened his eyes. Instead, he seemed to be losing himself in my presence. He seemed happy. So I was happy too.</p><p>As he lifted my dress over my head, then went to work on my underthings, I felt the familiar heat, the yearning. I wrapped my arms tighter and made my kisses more fervent. He moaned, bringing us to sit on the bed. He moved his hand to my waist, to my leg, to the space between my thighs. I panted when he made contact.</p><p>He moved his mouth from my lips to hover at my neck. "May I kiss you here?"</p><p>"Yes," I whispered.</p><p>He did so. He moved his mouth lower, to my chest. He asked the same question. I said yes.</p><p>He lowered himself to kneel on the ground and asked to kiss my stomach, my thighs. I said yes to both, feeling utterly breathless. Then, to a feathery, light feeling in my mind, he gently pushed my knees apart and asked to kiss me in that sensitive spot he'd been loving every morning with his hands.</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>He stood for a moment, only to kiss me on the lips again, laying me down as he did so. He worked his way again down my body, over my stomach, onto my spread legs, and finally pressed his lips between them.</p><p>At first, it was mere kisses. Gentle pecks. Then, I could sense his desire to experiment. He flicked his tongue out, and when I reacted very well to that, he did it again. And soon he was kissing me deeply there, trying new ways to move with his mouth, his lips, his tongue until he found what felt best.</p><p>When the euphoria hit again, I almost did beg him to let me use what I'd learned in training on him, to return the favor, but I knew he'd say no. He'd tell me when he was ready for that. But I had to express it somehow.</p><p>"I love you," I whispered, immediately feeling that the words didn't do it justice, but he moaned again, breathing harder, working more insistently. The euphoria began to build again, and-</p><p>A sound like something hard and heavy being dropped came from nearby.</p><p>Erik shot up like a firework, a glowing spark of alarm in his eyes. He stared toward the bookshelf, stiff as metal. I watched him, growing unease in my stomach as well.</p><p>"What was that?" I whispered.</p><p>"It came from behind the bookshelf," he responded lowly.</p><p>At those words, footsteps - so light I almost didn't hear them - sounded behind the door, fading, like someone running away. Feet moving fast on the floor.</p><p>Nausea filled me at the realization: someone had just been listening.</p><p>"Could it have been Nadir?" I sat, pulling the blankets to cover me.</p><p>"Nadir barely takes Echo Hall," Erik said slowly. "It's not impossible, but..."</p><p>"Ibrahim then?" If it was Ibrahim, as surprising as it sounded, I wouldn't be as embarrassed. I doubted the Grand Vizier, knowing his personality, would hold over our heads what he'd heard us do. And if he did, it would be in the most lighthearted way possible.</p><p>"Ibrahim has been missing in action from Nadir's house and my chambers," said Erik, moving around the bed to the bookshelf. "If it is him in there, then I would be very surprised." At last, he opened the secret door to reveal nothing but the long hallway, empty.</p><p>Not, actually, completely empty.</p><p>On the ground was a book. It didn't look like it had been placed there on purpose, with the way it was laying pages down, at an odd angle, some of the papers bent over.</p><p>It looked like it had been accidentally dropped.</p><p>Erik bent to retrieve it.</p><p>"What is that?" I asked as he closed the bookshelf behind him.</p><p>He raised a brow, frowning. "Perhaps it was Nadir."</p><p>A chill passed over me. "Why?"</p><p>He showed it to me. "Because this is his."</p><p>I looked at it. I noticed the word French printed on the cover. I immediately knew what it was.</p><p>"This," he said, "is his book of French translations. But..." Erik gazed at me, concern lacing his features, "I could have sworn he said he lost this."</p><p>I swallowed. "He did. He told me."</p><p>A long silence. In that silence, I saw Erik's expression match mine: fear. Actual fear.</p><p>"I think," he whispered, "perhaps we should start sleeping on the bed in the study. Thoughts?"</p><p>I nodded.</p>
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<a name="section0057"><h2>57. The Cat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>I was thirteen, a year after I'd come to Giovanni's inn, when I at last decided that I was ready to venture out into the world. To learn to be a thief. To be an official part of the family.</p><p>Giovanni sent Salvatore on lone missions - the man liked to work without company, at his own pace. He was most successful this way. Luciana, he continued to teach self-defense skills to; I could see in her face every time that she felt she was ready to be a thief as well, but Giovanni adamantly refused. I could see a hint of fear in his eyes when she asked to go, but he would pat her on the head and comment how like her mother she was.</p><p>Vincenzo and Carmelo were a pair. Always a pair. Carmelo, as it was explained to me, was a very quick pair of hands flitting from pocket to pocket with ease without detection. Vincenzo was nearly always the decoy.</p><p>If Giovanni was a fox, and Carmelo was a dragonfly, and Mario was a wolf-</p><p>Then Vincenzo was a cat.</p><p>Handsome, sleek, and charming when he wanted to be; he was also cold and vicious if rubbed the wrong way. But when he desired something, he had little trouble putting on an irresistible face, purring his way down the path to obtaining it.</p><p>Mask on my face, their faces bright and bare, we walked down the streets of Venice at dusk. The purple sky was dotted with tiny white dots as the two boys in front of me laughed and talked. Their shoulders weren't tight like mine, nor were their gaits stiff. They looked entirely easy. I wished I could be like them.</p><p>It was as though Vincenzo read my mind. He turned around to look at me. Despite being three years older, he and I were the same height. He turned back to Carmelo, pulled him in to whisper in his ear, and then let go. Carmelo gave a small salute and walked a bit quicker, into a crowd in a large courtyard ahead. It was flanked on either side with large, flat buildings. At the end was a tall brick tower.</p><p>"La Piazza San Marco," said Vincenzo, falling into step beside me. "It's enormous. And busy. Always. And for us, a place to prosper and thrive."</p><p>I nodded, feeling very ill indeed at the thrumming crowd. So many people. More people than had ever attended my performances in a single night back in France. I imagined each and every one of them turning to look at me, suddenly silent, as I reached up to my face and peeled off my mask.</p><p>In fact, a fair few of them did look, with interest, at my mask. I wanted to hide.</p><p>"My God, Erik, with the rigid way you're standing, the whole world will know we are up to no good." Vincenzo frowned at me. "Are you positive you're all right being here? I swear you won't be doing any stealing this first time around. Just watch."</p><p>"I know," I whispered. I stared into the crowd. I knew that, at least once, there had been patrons from Venice. I wondered if any of them would recognize me now.</p><p>We continued in silence, picking a spot to stand at one of the buildings, at one of the large stone pillars on its façade.</p><p>"You don't like big groups of people, do you?" he asked.</p><p>I shook my head.</p><p>A pause.</p><p>"You know," he said then, softly; from somewhere in the chattering crowd, I heard the soft sound of a string instrument, "Giovanni would probably never bring this up, but we had a thief a few months before you came who'd been travelling Europe. He'd just come from France, too."</p><p>I looked at him, but he wasn't looking at me. He had his arms crossed, and one knee was bent so that his foot rested on the pillar.</p><p>"There was an article in the back of a newspaper about some writer who'd recently been to France as well and saw some show - a three-headed dog and a boy with the face of death."</p><p>I felt the ground fall out from under me. I nearly stumbled, limbs numb.</p><p>"The thief told us he'd seen the show, too," Vincenzo continued. "He told us that there was a lot of pain in the boy's eyes, and that he had to leave the show early or he'd vomit. But not because the boy was ugly, though he certainly was, but because he couldn't stomach the meanness of it." At last he turned to look at my no-doubt shocked expression. "Would you know anything about that?"</p><p>I turned away from him. "Perhaps I do want to go back."</p><p>"No."</p><p>I whipped my gaze to him. "Excuse me?"</p><p>"I said no." He gave a half-smile. "You made it this far."</p><p>"And I can turn back and go if I want to." I stiffened further. "I know the way back home."</p><p>"Home?" He looked at me, tilting his head.</p><p>My face heated. "The inn," I corrected in a breath.</p><p>"No, you can call it home. I was just surprised you did." He stepped away from the pillar and went in front of me, facing me. "Listen, we all have a hard past. All of us. Salvatore was a slave. My clan was destroyed. Giovanni and his children lost their wife and mother, and are now being targeted by a dangerous and powerful man. You? You were a showpiece to be mocked. There is no shame in it."</p><p>I looked away.</p><p>"We all have demons," he said. "Whether you choose to let them possess you is entirely your decision."</p><p>Just then, Carmelo came from the crowd, a smile on his face. "Vincenzo," he said, who turned to look. Carmelo nodded and scratched his chin.</p><p>Vincenzo repeated the gesture, and whispered to me, "Follow, stand back, and watch."</p><p>We walked around the crowd to the other side of the plaza. Once there, Carmelo nodded toward a young couple standing a few meters from a pillar. I was told to wait and pay attention to Carmelo's hands.</p><p>I nodded.</p><p>Vincenzo winked at me. "But," he added, "don't forget to see how a professional-" He put a hand to his own chest- "works as well."</p><p>Carmelo rolled his eyes as Vincenzo went in for the kill, a feline stalking a pair of mice. He put on a charming smile and went to the girl. She looked to be about his age, the man with her perhaps ten years her senior.</p><p>"Signorita," he purred, "I needed to inform you that you have something in your hair."</p><p>She looked alarmed. "I do?"</p><p>"Moonlight," he said. "It's in your eyes as well."</p><p>The man bristled as the young woman blushed.</p><p>But while the man was distracted, I watched as Carmelo moved his hands in and out of the man's pocket. He pulled out a purse, took a handful of coins, and replaced the purse. The whole thing took mere seconds, and when it was done, Carmelo walked away, pocketing the coins, and went back to me. The man didn't seem to feel a thing.</p><p>"Signora," the man corrected, voice a warning. "We were married a month ago."</p><p>Vincenzo hummed his disappointment. "A shame. Well-" He smiled at the man. "Not for you, obviously." He nodded a bow to the girl, who appeared entirely flustered, and returned to us.</p><p>"So," he said, as I watched the man take his young wife by the hand and pull her far away from Vincenzo's vicinity, "did you catch it?"</p><p>I nodded.</p><p>"You will watch a few more times, then you will practice on me back at the inn before trying it for real," said Carmelo. "I think that-"</p><p>"Well! Look at this little trio!"</p><p>We all three turned to find two men in green uniforms, walking between the building and its pillars toward us. They were smiling widely, genuinely pleased at our presence. But there was a sinister nature to the pleasure that nagged at my mind.</p><p>Vincenzo crossed his arms. "Mario let his dogs out for a piss, I see."</p><p>One of the men tsked. "Careful now, Gypsy. There is bound to be police in this crowd, and we wouldn't want to alert them of the presence of thieves, would we Antonio?"</p><p>"We certainly wouldn't, Luca," said the other.</p><p>Luca turned from Vincenzo to me. He narrowed his eyes and then whispered to Antonio, who nodded and moved to my side. I felt my every muscle tense, ready to run. "And who is this spindly little masked spider?" Luca inquired. "It's not polite to hide your face."</p><p>Antonio unmasked me.</p><p>I gasped at the same time Luca did.</p><p>"What the fuck?" he said, and Antonio went around to see what the fuss was. He paled, not saying a word.</p><p>Luca looked between the three of us. "You're all three freaks. You know that? A filthy Gypsy, a corpse, and the fidgety low-born son of a bastard." He sneered. "Get out of the plaza."</p><p>Carmelo snatched the mask from Antonio. Vincenzo grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the street. As we ran, Carmelo handed me the mask. I held it to my face, not wanting to stop to tie the ribbon.</p><p>But even as we sprinted home, Carmelo was smiling.</p><p>"What's that shit-eating grin for?" asked Vincenzo.</p><p>"Erik spooked them." Carmelo laughed.</p><p>After a few moments, Vincenzo laughed too.</p><p>And at the sound of their glee, for the first time in my life, I felt grateful for my face. I laughed as well.</p>
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<a name="section0058"><h2>58. The Accusation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>"Christine."</p><p>My eyes fluttered open to see Erik standing over me, now in the study, the books of translations in his hands, a thumb holding his place between pages. I was on the side of the bed that touched the wall, and when I moved my arm over the rest of the bed, I found it to be cold. He'd been up for some time now.</p><p>"Erik?" My eyes strained against the warm yellow light of the lamp on the desk. "What's wrong?"</p><p>"There's something in the book I think you should see."</p><p>I sat up, now clothed. I was too paranoid after what had occurred earlier tonight. "Yes?"</p><p>He sat down. Ayesha, who'd been sleeping on the foot of the bed, stood, stretched, and walked to him, purring. Erik was fully dressed, I realized. I wasn't sure he'd actually slept at all. From the darkness beyond the window, the sleep still in my eyes, I knew that if it was morning, it was extremely early. He opened up the book and pointed to the margins, as Ayesha rubbed her cheek on the book's cover.</p><p>"Look."</p><p>There were a set of Persian words that I couldn't read, but underneath them was the phrase 'I love you'. A short distance under that were another set of words, and underneath that: "Like a queen".</p><p>My brow furrowed. "Are these..."</p><p>"Bits of our conversations." He breathed in and scratched his cat's chin, looking at her. "They're scattered all across this book. Bits of what we've said to each other." He stopped petting Ayesha and pointed to the Persian writing. "These words? They're gibberish. They mean nothing. But when said out loud, they sound like these words." He pointed to the French writing. "Whoever is listening has been writing what we say phonetically in Persian, and then looking up what the sounds mean in French."</p><p>I stared at the words. If the fact that Erik and I loved each other got to the wrong person, like a political enemy, then who knew what could happen.</p><p>"Who do you think has been eavesdropping?" I whispered.</p><p>"I have no idea." Erik closed the book slowly and stood. Ayesha mewed and hopped off the bed. "I wish I did."</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>The next morning, Erik woke me once more and asked me to bathe and dress so that we could go to Nadir's house. I did so. I made sure to put on the topaz necklace Erik had gifted me, as I did every morning now. And when I walked back out of the bathing room to find him standing and holding the book, I knew that this morning would entail conflict.</p><p>I wasn't wrong.</p><p>The moment we arrived from Echo Hall and walked into Nadir's dining room, the moment he saw the book his Erik's hands and registered what it was, he stood straight up, hands on the table on either side of his breakfast, eyes blazing.</p><p>"Where-"</p><p>"We have a small conundrum," said Erik. "Just a slight one."</p><p>Nadir marched to Erik and snatched the book, jade eyes wide behind his spectacles. "Where did you find this?"</p><p>"In Echo Hall, right behind the bookshelf door." Erik crossed his arms. "It was dropped."</p><p>Nadir whipped his gaze from the book's cover to Erik. "Dropped?"</p><p>"Someone has been spying on me."</p><p>A cold silence. Then: "Oh? And how do you know?"</p><p>The tone in Nadir's voice, full of icy doubt, sent a shiver down my spine as though it was actually physically chilly.</p><p>"How?" Erik looked at Nadir in puzzlement. "Why else would someone hold a book of French translations outside my bedroom? And write translations within the book itself. Look!-" He took the book back from Nadir and opened it, flipping the pages until he landed one one that satisfied him. "Look at this. These are words I've said. Christine has said." He pointed the words out to Nadir. "Explain this."</p><p>Nadir's jaw set. He shook his head momentarily, a flash of rage and terror in his eyes, and then looked at me with cool stone eyes.</p><p>"I think it would be very convenient," he said, "for Christine to be learning Persian."</p><p>I froze. "I didn't take it. I already told you."</p><p>"But why wouldn't you have taken it? You had access to my study while here; no one was tracking your movements."</p><p>"I told you that you could check my things-"</p><p>"Knowing, no doubt, that in saying that, no one would. Yes?"</p><p>"No! I-"</p><p>"She didn't take the book, Daroga." Erik's eyes flashed something mean at him. "What would she possibly gain from that? I could easily teach her if she wanted to learn."</p><p>"Independent study is good for a developing skill," replied Nadir. "And she'd have much to gain. A possible chance at freedom, perhaps, from the Shah if she were to find out something interesting about her master or the chief of police or the Grand Vizier. A chance to go home."</p><p>"I wouldn't sell you out," I whispered.</p><p>"And how do I know that?" Nadir's nostrils flared. "I can clearly see you are intelligent. Crafty, perhaps, as well."</p><p>"She didn't take the fucking book, Nadir!" Erik snarled. "I found the book behind the door. There's no way for her to have placed it there."</p><p>Nadir's lips thinned. He had no good response to that.</p><p>"It's someone who has access to your study." Erik lowered his voice. "It's a servant."</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"No!" Nadir hissed. "It's not."</p><p>Another silence.</p><p>"I know what this is," said Erik slowly. "You have lost control. The game is no longer being played in your favor, and you won't accept that it's happening. Because then you'd have to accept that things are unraveling."</p><p>"You would lose if things unravel, too, Erik. Both you and Christine."</p><p>"No doubt," said Erik. "I would. But I can accept that fact and move on with it, work with it, find a new path. But you would rather hold fast to your guns than admit they have no ammunition anymore. Nadir." He stepped a bit closer to him and spoke with deliberateness. "Someone that you think you can trust is acting against your interests. It's time to find out who it is."</p><p>Nadir stared at Erik. He took the book from his hands. "Regrettably," he said, "I have decided to cancel our meeting this morning."</p><p>"Cancel?" came an accented voice from the doorway. "But I've only just come."</p><p>Ibrahim.</p><p>He saw me looking at him with surprise and smiled. "Good morning, Rose."</p><p>I smiled back.</p><p>"We'd better well have a meeting," he said, walking into the dining room and taking a seat. The only person now at the table. "I haven't been in a long time. I'm ready to get back to work. But first? Bread. And lots of it. You wouldn't believe the headache I've got."</p><p>"The meeting is cancelled, Ibrahim."</p><p>"Well, get my bread all the same."</p><p>"You know what?" said Nadir. "I think we should cease meetings altogether. I can pass on my suggestions to Erik through paper and we can correspond that way."</p><p>"I do believe I've suggested that before," said Erik. "But I know you love me wreaking havoc on your home so you insisted on them, anyway. Understandable, of course."</p><p>"I've decided that information is no longer safe spoken aloud," he said, working his hands at his side. "Erik, you will burn the messages I give you the moment you read them."</p><p>"Of course." Erik's voice was cold, no doubt his mood still salted by Nadir's accusation.</p><p>"And Ibrahim is useless here. That has been been proven clear by his laziness these last couple of weeks."</p><p>Ibrahim's face fell. "I'm sorry?"</p><p>"Must I repeat myself, Grand Vizier?"</p><p>"I would advise, my friend, that you think about who you are talking to."</p><p>"And what will you do, Ibrahim, in response? Let the Shah know that you've been helping us take him down so that you could put into power the man you've been fucking?"</p><p>I stared at Nadir. Was he insane? This upset? Or had his realization that his mighty mountain was made of sand caused him to become something rabid and unreasonable?</p><p>Ibrahim shot up like a bullet, face reddening. "Learn your place, policeman, or I will remind you of it."</p><p>"Then remind me of it!" said Nadir. "You've lost the Prince, now lose the only true friends you have left by betraying them. Do it. I dare you."</p><p>Ibrahim stood there, fuming, and opened his mouth, about to retort, when he trailed his eyes to Erik and me.</p><p>He closed his mouth, and looked back at Nadir. "I will not," he said softly. "But the only stake I had in this was seeing the man I love on the throne. I've lost him. So now I have no real loyalties - except to them." He pointed to us. "Erik understands loyalty. I've seen it in his love for her. And she understands kindness. I've seen it in her treatment of him. You understand neither of those things. I think you'd sell your own son if it meant avenging your wife - your loyalties and kindnesses died with her."</p><p>He went around us. He left.</p><p>Nadir's tan skin was ashen. After a few moments, he looked at us.</p><p>"Go," he whispered.</p><p>We didn't hesitate to obey.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0059"><h2>59. The Bird</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>When the wolves insulted Carmelo or Luciana, they called them bastard children, as though their mother was never married to their father. When they insulted Giovanni, they insulted his lifestyle. When they insulted me, they insulted my face.</p><p>But when they insulted Vincenzo and Salvatore, they didn't mock them for their parents or career or appearance.</p><p>They merely called Vincenzo a Gypsy.</p><p>They merely called Salvatore an African.</p><p>As if being Romani or being from the African continent was an insult in itself.</p><p>It boiled my blood beyond reason.</p><p>The wolves spat on Vincenzo, claiming that it was just like a Gypsy to be a thief. Meanwhile, the only reason he was in this "line of work" was because others stole from him first - they stole his family and home.</p><p>The wolves sneered at Salvatore, voicing their thoughts that it was fitting that a "barbaric" African would commit crimes. But if he hadn't, he'd still be a victim of the truly barbaric act of slavery.</p><p>Their words were a self-fulfilling prophecy. And it wasn't fair.</p><p>But nothing was ever fair, was it?</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>I was in love with Luciana.</p><p>I'd been with the Fox Den Inn crew for three years, and I was now fifteen.</p><p>With every passing day, my affection for them - for all of them - grew exponentially. And every few months, when Mario and his men came to collect, I wanted more than anything to hurt them. When we encountered them in the street, I wished to throttle their throats as they insulted my brothers.</p><p>But I had things to find happiness in, despite these anger-inducing moments. I looked forward to piano lessons with Carmelo. To reading with Salvatore. To sharpening my Italian or simply chatting and eating with Giovanni. To playing cards with Vincenzo.</p><p>But the thing I liked most was at dusk, when there was no mission to embark on. When Luciana and I would sit on the roof of the inn, looking out over the city.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>We hadn't become this close until recently.</p><p>I'd found her crying alone in the cellar, when I'd returned early from a mission. Vincenzo and Carmelo wanted to visit a local pub, a place where mostly young men ventured, and I didn't care for the idea. Giovanni was mingling with guests, and Salvatore was in his bedroom. So I went to the cellar to play. I found her with her face in her arms, bent over the table, softly weeping.</p><p>"Luciana?"</p><p>Her gaze flew up to meet mine. Her eyes in the soft light were puffy, cheeks tear-stained. She wiped at them quickly. "What?" she asked. "What do you want?"</p><p>"Are you all right?" I took a step nearer. "Did someone hurt you?"</p><p>She contorted her face in disgust. "No. No one hurt me. Why does everyone assume that if I'm upset, I've been hurt? I can take perfect care of myself. It takes a lot for someone else to make me cry."</p><p>I looked away. "Sorry to offend."</p><p>"Don't do that, either." She sniffed. "Don't act like I need to have my sensibilities protected, that I can't handle being offended. I hate that."</p><p>I stared at her quizzically. "Then what would you have me say?"</p><p>"Whatever you want!" She threw her hands up and stood. "You can say whatever you want around me! You don't have to act in a way that's different to how you act around my brother or Vincenzo! The only thing that's different between Carmelo and me is our gender - and I hate that!" Another tear went down her cheek, and she wiped it away. "I want to be a thief, too, but my father has chosen my life for me - I'll never be anything but a helpless girl. He'll never allow me anymore freedoms than wearing trousers and brandishing a weapon - and even those, he says, are only so that it is easier for me to defend myself. Because, to him, I will always be on the defensive, not the offensive like the rest of you."</p><p>I listened to her rant, not saying a word, feeling quite badly for my thought that first night. That the way Vincenzo spoke to her was not appropriate for a lady's ears.</p><p>"I am capable of doing anything my brother does," she said. "But because I look like my mother, because my father is terrified of losing me, he won't put me in any danger. But what does that say about his love for Carmelo? Does he not love him the same? Or maybe, does he love him more? Respect him more? I can't say. All I know is that I hate my life. I feel trapped. I feel like I'm a bird in a cage, wanting to fly but knowing my wings are clipped."</p><p>I watched her, and as I did, I couldn't help it. "I understand what that's like."</p><p>We looked at each other in silence for a moment. Then she said: "Do you want to talk on the roof? I think I need fresh air."</p><p>I nodded.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>Tonight was a night when no thievery, no mischief, took place. An off-night. This wasn't because we were tired. No, actually, we felt invigorated when we stole. I'd started practicing my skills shortly after watching Carmelo. And I excelled at it very quickly. I reached the point that I needed no distraction from Vincenzo to pick a pocket. Actually, my masked face was enough. When I'd at last learned to swallow my fear of crowds - a thing that took time and support from Carmelo and Vincenzo - I walked straight into groups and emerge seconds later with handfuls of coins.</p><p>My mask distracted them from what my hands did.</p><p>We took tonight off because even thieves need time to relax.</p><p>I ascended the stairs to the roof to find Luciana already sitting there, watching the yellow sun set over Venice's glittering cityscape. Of everything in my sight, she was the loveliest.</p><p>"I hear you are as good a thief as my father now." She looked at me and smiled. My stomach fluttered at the sight. The best part was that I knew she smiled genuinely - that though she wished to be a thief herself, she knew how I struggled to make myself go into public spaces. She was actually happy for me, despite the jealousy I knew she felt.</p><p>If I had the power, I would make it so that she could go on missions right alongside us. But only her father had that power. Her father, or perhaps her husband-</p><p>"I don't know if I'd say that," I said softly in response to her words, speaking before my thoughts ran away from me.</p><p>"My father says that." She leaned back on her hands. At sixteen, she was still so small. "The words came from his own mouth."</p><p>"Really?" A swell of pride grew in me.</p><p>She nodded, and then looked away, staring at the horizon. "Erik?"</p><p>"Yes?"</p><p>"Do you think it's forward for a girl to tell a boy she loves him?"</p><p>I felt suddenly quite lightheaded. I had to look away. "No, I - I -" I swallowed. "No, I think that's fine."</p><p>A long silence. "Erik?" she said again.</p><p>"Yes?" My heart hammered in my chest.</p><p>"I have something to tell you."</p><p>I turned slowly again, toward her. "What is it?"</p><p>"Carmelo has made fun of me for loving Vincenzo, but the truth is...well-" Her face reddened.</p><p>I thought for a moment that she wouldn't continue, and I wanted to tell her then that I loved her, that I loved seeing her smile. I loved her ferocity and sharp tongue. And there was no shame in telling me-</p><p>"The truth is," she whispered, "that I really do love him."</p><p>A cold feeling washed over me. "Who?"</p><p>She turned to me again. "Vincenzo." She bit her lip. "But I am scared to tell him. Should I tell him?"</p><p>The sun lost its light. It was still a dull yellow low in the sky, but it looked dark now. Everything did. "I-"</p><p>"You're a good friend, Erik," she said quickly. "That's why I tell you this. I know you'll keep the secret until I decide to say something, right?"</p><p>"Right," I whispered, bringing my knees to my chest.</p><p>"But should I tell him? I don't know if I should."</p><p>"I think that's up to you." I felt as though I had no breath.</p><p>She looked at me, perhaps waiting for more, and then sighed. "I know you're right. This is something I should decide on my own." When she laid her head on my shoulder, I was too numb to feel it. "I will think it over."</p><p>I closed my eyes, not knowing why I had the right to feel this way.</p><p>Of course she didn't love me back.</p><p>Vincenzo was good.</p><p>Vincenzo was handsome.</p><p>Vincenzo deserved to be loved.</p><p>I could not say the same for myself.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0060"><h2>60. The Spy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>"He's the one who told me all about the plans for the Shah in the first place!" I said to Erik as we finished our lesson that day. "And now he thinks I'm backstabbing-"</p><p>"Nadir knows you're innocent." Erik was still at the piano. He was looking at the music he'd played - music he'd written. Every note was beautifully placed. In another life, he would have been a professional composer. "He's smarter than that. He just doesn't want to believe that something foul is brewing under his nose."</p><p>I brought my hand to the necklace he'd gifted me. As of late, touching it had become a sort of comfort - a piece of him I could bring with me and keep close to my heart. Since last night, I hadn't been able to stop thinking about the possibility of someone listening.</p><p>But nothing happened. Nothing came of it.</p><p>Not until two weeks later.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>It was late enough into the night that I'd slept the hashish away.</p><p>And, as it had happened nearly every night I'd been under the influence, I awoke with the feeling of cotton in my mouth. Thirsty - extremely so.</p><p>Careful, so as not to wake Erik sleeping soundly beside me, I pulled the blanket off of me and left the bed. The chambers were dark, the only light coming from where the moonlight leaked through the window's curtains. I made my way to the bathing room, to fill a cup I kept there with water. That room was absolutely pitch black.</p><p>I used my hands outstretched to find the counter, and then felt around for a lantern. I switched it on.</p><p>Had the mirror not been covered, I would have likely seen the man standing behind me. I likely would have screamed.</p><p>But as it was, I felt a hand close over my mouth and saw a dagger appear right below my chin. A warning not to make a sound. The owner of the hand and the dagger didn't need to worry - I was too stunned to do anything but gasp through my nose and freeze where I stood.</p><p>The person behind me didn't say a word; he merely turned me toward the door and moved me forward. A numb, icy feeling of dread started in my belly and spread to the top of my head and the tips of my fingers and toes. This was it. This was what I'd been fearing all this time.</p><p>But who was it?</p><p>I dared not turn to look. I wasn't sure it would make a difference - it could have been someone I knew but it could have been no one familiar to me at all.</p><p>He pushed me into the parlor, and then into Erik's empty bedroom, its door cracked. My eyes, slightly adjusted to the dark, saw at the bookshelf door was ajar as well. The man made me enter Echo Hall.</p><p>I thought about screaming, despite the dagger. And in hindsight, I should have. But I was far too frightened of that sharp blade near my neck to think of a way out.</p><p>He didn't close the bookshelf door behind him. He simply walked, forcing me to keep moving, making turns and twists, both of us silent as the grave I rapidly saw myself ending up in.</p><p>And then, we turned toward yet another open door, and I was pushed into a bedroom. Stone walls with no window, no decoration on the walls. A bed. A table and a chair and a chamber pot in the corner. It looked like a prison cell.</p><p>The person brought me to the chair, currently pulled out from the table, and made me sit. He dropped the knife and forced my hands behind me, behind the chair's back. I felt a rope being tied around my wrists. Too tightly. Fear and a bit of pain forced a whimper from my mouth.</p><p>Something sharp was said in Persian, whispered. The man went around me and to the door, closing it. I saw he had black hair, his clothes the same color.</p><p>An Echo.</p><p>This was an Echo.</p><p>I remembered the dead man in the halls. I remembered how quickly Nadir closed the case of who did it.</p><p>"What do you want?" I whispered.</p><p>The man turned to look at me. I was struck by how young he looked. Perhaps Ibrahim's age - perhaps even Erik's. Or mine.</p><p>He pursed his lips, and then went to the table. I saw a sheet of paper on it. He held it out for me to read. The lettering was sloppy, reminiscent of a child's, but it was in French:</p><p>Angel take from me. I take from Angel.</p><p>I looked at him, panic like a thousand blooming flowers inside me. "What did he take from you?"</p><p>He didn't respond. He simply picked up the dagger again and held it to my throat. I wasn't sure that he understood my words at all.</p><p>I thought perhaps he was about to slit my throat, when his face contorted and he let out a noise of frustration. He brought the dagger to his side, gripping it tightly in his fist.</p><p>He stayed that way for, in my opinion, too long. Then he held the knife up again. He stared into my eyes, and perspiration started at his forehead. I could see a struggle - he wanted to kill me. He wanted badly to do so. But he couldn't.</p><p>He dropped the weapon to the floor. He went to the table and placed his palms flat there, staring down at his hands. He seemed to be shaking.</p><p>After some time, he left the table and began to pace. Back and forth. Moving his hands and talking, bringing his fingers into his hair and gripping the strands, or rubbing his eyes and grimacing as he walked. Chattering. Back and forth. Back and forth.</p><p>For what could have been five minutes or an hour.</p><p>But I was too terrified to speak. I merely looked down when his movements became too upsetting. I would die here, I realized. This was where I would leave this world and meet my mother. If misfortune should have it, my father too.</p><p>But then a knock arrived. The man spun and looked like an animal cornered in a cave, slightly hunched but seeming ready to pounce. The knock sounded again, and he picked up the blade once more, holding it quaveringly to my throat, and spoke softly.</p><p>The door opened.</p><p>My eyes widened when they found Nadir, looking with dizzying calm from the Echo to me to the Echo. He closed the door behind him.</p><p>I didn't understand any of the conversation at the time, but this is what would be later revealed to me:</p><p>Nadir took a breath in. "Rahim."</p><p>"Daroga," Rahim whispered. "Not who I was expecting."</p><p>"No, I suppose it's not." He nodded to me. "I was merely coming round to observe my Echoes...but what is this?"</p><p>The man didn't respond.</p><p>"You understand that when the Angel discovers his property is missing, he-"</p><p>"We both know," said Rahim lowly, "that the Angel does not see it that way."</p><p>The Daroga raised a brow. "What way?"</p><p>"His property. He is no cruel master." He held the knife a bit closer. "He loves her. Actually loves her."</p><p>My heart rate increased. I stared at Nadir. Help me, I begged him in my mind. Please help me.</p><p>But Nadir smiled. "He does love her. But why does that concern you?"</p><p>"He took the woman I loved." The Echo's voice wavered. "He killed her."</p><p>"Who?"</p><p>"The servant girl who brought her the poisoned tea."</p><p>Nadir's eyes thinned. "You spoke with that girl? You know my Echoes are not to speak to anyone-"</p><p>"We never spoke." Rahim's hand shook as he brought the blade closer to my throat. "I loved her all the same. I'd...watch her as she moved from room to room. Listen to her hum or laugh to herself. She was the only good thing about my life, Daroga. The thing I looked forward to in my loneliness. And the Angel took her away. So now? I will take his love away, too."</p><p>"How do you know he loves her so much?"</p><p>Rahim fell silent.</p><p>"Took my book, didn't you? Stole from your master? But you mean me no harm - no, you did it to serve your own interests, not the Shah's. Am I right?"</p><p>"I had to know," rasped Rahim behind me. "I had to know if my suspicion was true. I had to know if he actually did love her. And he does."</p><p>"And what about the dead Echo a couple months back? Was that you, too?"</p><p>"He was onto me," he said. "He saw me spying where I wasn't supposed to. I could see in his eyes that he was going to tell you. I had to do something. I killed him. I panicked. So I framed it as a suicide - claimed that he loved that girl, too." He panted for a moment. "I'd do it again. All of it."</p><p>Nadir looked at his Echo for a while, and then tsked, walking further into the room. "Rahim...Rahim... You know what must be done, don't you?"</p><p>"If you must kill me, do it. But I will take her life first." He held the dagger against me. Alarm rung in my head at the contact. "That was the plan anyway. Lure the Angel here to collect her dead body - see his pain - and then kill myself, dying happily knowing I made him suffer. I even left him a note of where to find me. I want to die anyway, Daroga."</p><p>"Me? Kill you? Oh, no, dear boy."</p><p>Cold. I felt cold. Something was wrong. Nadir's jade eyes took in the Echo as he smiled again.</p><p>"Actually, I think you've solved a problem for me." Nadir went to the back of my chair, shooing Rahim away. The Echo, moved to stand in front of me, his back now to the door. "Hand me the dagger, please."</p><p>Rahim looked absolutely dumbfounded. He gave the dagger to Nadir.</p><p>"You see," said the Daroga, "Erik made a promise to me, and I think this Flower is getting in the way of what needs to be done." He switched to French. "You have been quite a thorn in my side; haven't you, Christine?"</p><p>Nadir held the dagger to my throat. I wanted to sob. I think I did.</p><p>"Oh, don't cry. Death is part of life. And you're a good girl. You'll surely end up in Paradise." He returned to Persian, and I lost comprehension again. "Now, Rahim. Watch, please, as I show you what a thorough cut across the neck looks like."</p><p>The door opened, silent, slow. I noticed it. But Rahim didn't.</p><p>A lasso flew from the hall and landed itself around Rahim's throat. He choked against it as it was pulled tight, gripping his neck, the rope, as he sputtered and staggered back. Erik was on the other side. He came forward and tightened it further, maskless face full of rage.</p><p>I sobbed again, but this time it was in relief.</p><p>He nodded to Nadir then, who came around the chair, dagger still in his hand. Rahim continued to gasp in vain for air, clawing at the rope, stomping his feet. He watched with wide eyes as the Daroga adjusted his spectacles, lifted the dagger...</p><p>And sliced the Echo's throat clean through.</p><p>Rahim's eyes rolled back in his head as blood poured like a waterfall from his neck, painting his skin red, wetting his black clothes. He fell limp, and Erik let him drop to the floor.</p><p>"There," said Nadir softly in French. He crouched and wiped the blood on the dagger on Rahim's soaked shirt. He patted the Echo's cheek and stood. "That's how you do it."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0061"><h2>61. The Stag</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>Luciana did tell Vincenzo.</p><p>And, as intelligent and willful and full-of-life that she was, it was little surprise that Vincenzo loved her back.</p><p>He told me this himself when we sat playing cards.</p><p>"It's odd," he said, ad I forced myself to swallow the lump in my throat. "I used to see her as a little girl. Annoying and loud and far too energetic. But now?" He looked at his cards and smiled softly. "Now, honestly, I think she's beautiful. In every way. I've thought so for some time now, but I pushed the idea aside." He looked at me again. "When she told me her feelings, I went to Giovanni the moment our conversation ended. I wanted his permission to court her. And he said yes. He said he approves." He shrugged. "Sorry for rambling. I'm simply...I'm very happy."</p><p>"I'm happy for you," I said softly, finding that I had some difficulty focusing on the cards. The world seemed foggy.</p><p>To my relief, he changed the subject after that.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>I read more now.</p><p>I became a bit quieter.</p><p>I saw Luciana's and Vincenzo's courtship everywhere. I forced myself, now, to spend time with her on the roof, or speak easily with him. When I taught Carmelo to play piano or talked over breakfast with Giovanni, I remembered that, in the back of my mind, Carmelo was her twin. Giovanni was her father. That both of them were enthusiastic about Vincenzo loving their sister and daughter. I couldn't help wonder if they'd feel differently if it was me rather than him.</p><p>Vincenzo had a face like a prince. I looked like the monster in the castle's dungeon.</p><p>Only Salvatore's presence brought me peace. Helped me forget.</p><p>It was late, extremely so, into the night when a soft knock came to the door.</p><p>"Come in," I said softly, without looking up from my book, as I read in my bed.</p><p>Salvatore opened the door, stepped inside, and shut it behind him. I closed my book, using my thumb as a bookmark.</p><p>"Is everything all right?" I asked him.</p><p>"For me? Yes." He went to the table and sat, looking at me.</p><p>"Oh." I waited for him to speak, but when he didn't, I cleared my throat. "It's rather late."</p><p>"It is."</p><p>Another long pause.</p><p>"Are you...sure everything is all right?" I said again. Normally if he came here unannounced, it was to read silently with me. But he had no book. He merely had his piercing stare.</p><p>"Yes, Erik, everything is fine with me."</p><p>"Then why are...not to be rude, but why are you here?"</p><p>He lifted his chin. "I am waiting for you to tell me what is troubling you. I figure if I sit here long enough, it will come out."</p><p>I looked down. "Everything is fine with me."</p><p>"No, everything isn't. You've become silent, ever since Luciana and Vincenzo became a pair. And Vincenzo and the Billisis are all too happy, I think, to notice that something is wrong with you - well, let me take that back. I wouldn't say Carmelo is ecstatic. He's clearly pleased his sister is happy, his friend too, but I can see him turn a bit green at the idea of Vincenzo - of anyone - with his twin." He regarded me. "But I have noticed a change. What about their pairing has you upset."</p><p>I sighed, but stayed quiet.</p><p>"I can take a guess, but I don't want to make assumptions."</p><p>"Your assumptions are probably correct," I said softly.</p><p>A short length of quiet.</p><p>"Erik," said Salvatore, "have you ever loved a girl before Luciana?"</p><p>I shook my head.</p><p>"Then her choosing someone else is going to sting more than it probably should."</p><p>I looked at Salvatore. He was a big man. Strong-looking. But so gentle - gentle in the eyes, in his face. Quiet, unassuming. But capable of protecting himself and his own. He was a stag, standing tall and minding only himself, but unafraid to ram his horns and charge if the situation called for it.</p><p>"I think it would hurt the same no matter what," I said. "And I know you must think my reaction too strong. It's not as though she outright rejected me - I never even told her how I feel. I know you think that...that I should merely overcome it-"</p><p>"I don't think that," he said. He frowned and shook his head. "No, not at all."</p><p>"You don't think I'm being, I don't know...dramatic."</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Then what do you think?"</p><p>"I think..." He looked away. In his thinking, he brought his hand up and scratched his jaw. "Erik, I have been rejected before. I have tried time and again to find love here in Venice. But I find that white women are more interested in experiencing the color of my skin for a night than actually being courted by me."</p><p>I frowned. "I'm sorry."</p><p>"Don't be. Many men would be pleased to know that women only want him for fun. I'm simply not one of those men. So I have had my fair share of rejection, as well."</p><p>I felt myself go red with shame. "So then you do think I am being-"</p><p>"No, I already said no." He looked down at the table, thinking again. When he spoke, it was with a soft voice. "Did you know that when babies experience their first bruise, they cry as if it is the worst thing that has ever happened to them? Because it is. Up until that point, they have never experienced pain before, so the sensation is new to them."</p><p>I listened for him to continue.</p><p>"Now, do the parents - kind, good parents, as I am sure there are exceptions - do the parents roll their eyes and tell them to suck up their sadness, that others have experienced worse?"</p><p>"No," I whispered. I thought for a moment of Marie, her constant loving nature, and had to push her from my mind. I'd done so well of forgetting her, Sasha and Cerberus. I wouldn't think of them now.</p><p>"No," he agreed. "Pain is relative. Tolerance to pain is learned. And anyone that tells you that you have no right to be feeling what you are feeling can, in my opinion, fuck right off."</p><p>I smiled.</p><p>"Not only do you have little experience with this pain," he said, "but you also have trauma from your past. With what you've been through, no doubt you should feel pain more strongly. No doubt rejection should hurt more. But this trauma need not be an enemy. We can cry, scream at it. Ask it why it won't go away. Try to ignore it, knowing it doesn't leave."</p><p>I closed my eyes, that lump in my throat again.</p><p>"Or," he continued, "we can sit with it. Talk to it. Love it. Accept it. Let it be. Those that hurt us often don't get what should have come to them. Sometimes they do - but even then, it doesn't make our own pain go away. We can forgive without forgetting. We can move on without accepting what we don't need to accept. And above all, we can let go of the idea that our pain is our fault. Because it is not. It never was."</p>
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<a name="section0062"><h2>62. The Secret</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: Sexual content!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>Erik went to me swiftly, his face full of hot fury, and quickly untied my rope bindings. I watched Nadir the entire time. He was staring back at me with regret.</p><p>"What's going on?" I whispered.</p><p>"That Echo wanted to kill you to hurt me," Erik said. I could hear the anger in his tone. "I will explain it later."</p><p>"How did you know to look for me here?" I asked.</p><p>"He left me a letter telling me to collect your body. You were gone from the bed too long - I went to look for you and found it in the parlor." My hands were free. He went around to face me and helped me to my feet. "I took a chance that he'd not killed you yet and went to Nadir, showing him the note. I figured that the Daroga could distract him, put him in a compromising position. Have Nadir pretend to help him kill you so that I could kill him. I merely needed to listen for the cue words to open the door and throw my lasso."</p><p>"Which is exactly what we did," said Nadir. He continued to watch me sadly. "I shouldn't have accused you."</p><p>"No, you shouldn't have." Erik's eyes blazed as he took in Nadir. "To be honest, I was nervous to go to you at all. Part of me wondered if you would deny what was before your eyes, or even that you were in on her murder-"</p><p>"In on it?" Nadir looked stricken. "I wouldn't kill her-"</p><p>"I took that chance as well. The only thing that gave me comfort was how quickly I would kill you should I find you were playing a trick; and the fact that I think you knew that as well. That you wouldn't dare harm her in my presence."</p><p>Nadir's eyes were wide. "You really think I would have actually helped kill her?"</p><p>"Yes." Erik glanced shortly at me. "Consider as well how quickly she was to believe it. She didn't sound very shocked to me during your little roleplay. No, she sounded scared. Of you." He took a shaky breath. "I don't think this surprises you. You know how you've been behaving. You even played on it just now. But I think this is a conversation for another time. I think I don't want to speak to you for quite a while. If you'd investigated further, rather than denying everything to save your sense of security and control, she wouldn't have been this close to death. Thank you for your assistance in this matter; it was the least you could do. It is your fault, after all." He gripped my hand and began pulling me forward. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to get her back home."</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>Back in the study, I was shaken as Erik explained the conversation between Nadir and his Echo to me.</p><p>All of this had happened so suddenly. So quickly. It was like some kind of nightmare. But there had been clues. So many clues. The dead Echo with the story of his lost love and suicide - a true story, but not in the way we thought. The missing book. The running pair of feet behind the bookshelf. How had we not predicted this? How had we not seen it?</p><p>But how could we have seen it? So focused on the idea that someone was listening for the Shah, we'd completely forgotten about people like the Violet Dawn. People who wanted to hurt me to hurt Erik.</p><p>This Echo, it seemed, wasn't with that group. In fact, it seemed that the Violet Dawn had been wiped out; but Erik still had enemies. Of course he did. People who wanted him gone. People who saw me as a pawn in that pursuit.</p><p>We couldn't be out of each other's sight anymore. Not for a moment. If one of us did need to be alone, to use the bathing room, perhaps, then the space had to be thoroughly checked. If Erik had to leave without me, then I had to be watched, perhaps by Nadir or Ibrahim.</p><p>And as for the Echo.</p><p>I'd thought all that time ago how lonely of an existence it must have been. How dark and cold. And how inescapable - for if you became an Echo, you could not leave its duties except in death.</p><p>And one of them, unsurprisingly, had snapped.</p><p>I wondered if there were more like him. I hoped that there weren't.</p><p>I hoped that, one day, Echo Hall could be eliminated, and the Echoes who secretly broke day by day could be free.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>Erik was shaking beside me.</p><p>Neither one of us was able to sleep. Of course not. But we didn't know where else to go but back to bed, within each other's arms.</p><p>"I'm all right," I said softly. "I'm all right."</p><p>"I almost lost you." His voice shook. "I told you this would happen."</p><p>My heart sank. "The curse is gone, Erik. We took care of it."</p><p>"And maybe it didn't work." His breathing was becoming rapid. "I've inadvertently killed every single person who's ever loved me. I told you this. Why should you be any different? If it's not today, then it will be one day. You will be gone. And I will be to blame."</p><p>"It wasn't your fault this time," I whispered. I leaned up on my elbow and put a hand on his cheek. "How was this your fault?"</p><p>"I should have investigated everything myself." I felt, on my hand, a tear fall from his eye. "I should have done more to find out who it was. But I didn't. I waited for Nadir to come to his senses; I wanted him to take care of it himself. I wanted him to wake up. But he woke up too late. I should have woken him up sooner. So prideful - so stupid of me-!"</p><p>He sobbed. I took him in my arms immediately and let him cry. He did so, deeply - grief like nothing I'd ever seen anyone experience before. The memory of those he'd lost, of all of those untold stories I wouldn't push for. It made me begin to cry as well, the feeling of his grief overwhelming and overpouring into me.</p><p>But I could tell him a different story.</p><p>"Once upon a time," I said softly, "there was a Prince named Eric. He loved a maiden named Kristine, and she loved him back - more than anything."</p><p>His sobs calmed. They turned to light hiccups.</p><p>"They had to keep their love secret. The dragon who trapped the Prince expected him to be cruel to the maiden. Everyone in the the dragon's lair expected it, as well. But the Prince had enemies, people who didn't understand him. Who hated him. They thought he was infallible, so didn't want to strike him directly. So they tried to hurt the maiden."</p><p>Erik brought his hand to my hair and clutched it in his fingers.</p><p>"But the Prince had a plan. He trapped and killed the dragon. And when the dragon was dead, Prince Eric and Maiden Kristine escaped. They travelled far away, across continents, and started a new life, where no one had to know what they'd been through. They lived happily ever after."</p><p>He pulled away, and there was pain in his eyes. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but then closed his eyes and brought his forehead to mine. "Christine."</p><p>"Erik?"</p><p>"I have secrets I have not told you." He breathed shakily. "One secret I cannot tell you for a while. I will tell you. I will. But I can't. Not yet. It's...hard to explain. But there are reasons - real reasons - I have to keep it from you. It doesn't make sense now. But do you...do you understand?"</p><p>"What kind of secret?" I pulled away. He looked slightly hurt at the loss of contact.</p><p>"I can't even tell you that. But I will tell you, Christine. I will, when the time comes. I will tell you. It won't be long before that day. It's just...if I tell you now, I won't...I won't..." He grimaced. "I have to wait to tell you, but just know this. When the day comes that I do tell you, I know you will hate me."</p><p>"You can tell me now. I won't hate you."</p><p>"I can't, Christine," he whispered. "I can't. You will understand why when the time comes. I will explain it all then. But I need you to know that if you do hate me, I will understand. I know you want to know now. And I wish I could tell you. And-" A tear came down his face again. "I understand if you want to rescind your love, simply for what I've told you now. I understand that. The secret may hurt you. It may cause you pain."</p><p>I felt dread, down to my bones. What secret? I wanted to know. I needed to know. But if he loved me, if I at least knew that, then maybe I could wait. I could quell my curiosity. I could be patient. But as for being hurt, for hating him-</p><p>"Is the secret that you don't actually love me as much as you say?" I asked, heart racing.</p><p>He grimaced. "No - God, no, Christine. I love you more than anything."</p><p>"Is is that you will...stop loving me? Or...or that you love someone else?"</p><p>"No. Christine. No. I love you. Only you. I will never stop."</p><p>"Then there's nothing you could tell me that would make me hate you. Or that would hurt me. As long as I know you love me, I will be all right. I know your character. You've proved it to me. Anything you say or do will have good reason. I know that."</p><p>And I found that I believed my own words. It was foolish to believe them as I did, childish. Of course there were secrets that could hurt me, whatever they may be. But I had to believe my own words. I had to.</p><p>Erik looked at me for a long time.</p><p>And then the next words out of his mouth made me feel faint: "I want you."</p><p>"Now?" My breath caught in my throat.</p><p>He nodded. "I almost lost you. Who knows if it will happen again? I can't keep...living in a state of terror when it comes to my body being exposed. I want you. I need you. If you will have me."</p><p>"I will," I breathed. "Yes."</p><p>But rather than remove his clothing, or removing mine, he went to his desk. He turned on the light before opening one of the drawers and pulling out a wooden box. He opened it and brought out something tinted yellow, slightly see-through. I recognized it from my training.</p><p>"This is lambskin," he explained. "I am continuously given them at breakfast-time - if you'll forgive me, I hide them before you can see. I've been throwing them away - until recently. Until we began to be intimate. I started saving them."</p><p>I knew what they were for. Men would have to wear them if they were to visit Flowers in the Garden. It was to keep us from becoming pregnant. I had no idea that Erik was being slipped them in the morning, probably at the order of the Shah. It didn't surprise me, though. Everyone who knew of the Angel of Death was under the assumption that he'd been forcing himself on me for months.</p><p>I nodded in understanding, and he placed the lambskin on the table next to the bed. He turned to me, smiling, but his eyes lacked nerve. "I will tell you that, although I'm sure you've seen that I am every bit a Don Juan, I unfortunately have little experience in this area."</p><p>I stood. "That's all right." I brought my dress over my head, making myself naked. His pupils dilated ever so slightly as I dropped the clothing to the floor. "I can take the lead."</p><p>"Do you mind that?" he whispered.</p><p>"Not at all." I felt actually grateful for my training. I forgot the fact that I'd been trained to be used as a toy. I reclaimed my horrors from those who chained them to me, and I would use them now for something that made me happy. For something that would make him happy.</p><p>He nodded. "All right." His hands clenched slightly at his side. "Christine, I'm not sure how I will react when I'm undressed."</p><p>"If we need to stop, we can," I said, parroting the words he'd said back to me. "Just say the word and we can stop."</p><p>He closed his eyes.</p><p>"May I remove your clothes?" I asked; elation at what was about to happen was sprouting inside me; nervousness, too. But it was the most wonderful sort of anxiety. "Or would you rather do it?"</p><p>"I won't be able to." He opened his eyes and laughed shortly. "I will help but...I can't-"</p><p>"That's fine," I said soothingly. His nightclothes consisted of trousers and a long-sleeve shirt. I slid my hands under his shirt and pulled it slowly upward. His breathing increased, but he helped me remove it.</p><p>And when I saw his chest, his arms, his wrists - all of the scars - my stomach dropped. I remembered him telling me that he'd harmed himself in his younger years. I felt suddenly that I might cry. "Oh, Erik."</p><p>"I know it's ugly." He was shaking, pain on his face. "I'm sorry. I can keep my shirt on-"</p><p>"No, you're not ugly." I brought one of his destroyed wrists to my mouth and kissed it. "You're beautiful. I love you." I came closer and kissed up his arms, to his shoulders, to his chest and stomach. His shaking only increased, his breathing beyond ragged.</p><p>I looked at him, at the tears welling in his eyes. "We can stop."</p><p>He shook his head ferociously. "No. I'm...overwhelmed. In the best way."</p><p>I kissed his chest again. "Can I remove your trousers?"</p><p>He paused. Then said, "Yes."</p><p>I pulled them off, bringing them down to his ankles. He stepped out of them. I saw that his legs were quivering, and when I brought my eyes up, up to his member-</p><p>I thought back to his joke that he wouldn't fit into a small jar.</p><p>I don't think that it was entirely a joke.</p><p>I brought my eyes up to his and stood entirely. He looked as though he were cold. Teeth chattering, face contorted.</p><p>"We really can stop," I repeated.</p><p>"No," he said harshly, but quietly. "I want to do this."</p><p>"All right." I paused, bringing my hands to his stomach. "May I touch you?"</p><p>He pursed his lips, closed his eyes, and grunted.</p><p>"You can say no, Erik."</p><p>"Give me a minute. I want you to. But give me a moment."</p><p>I did so. I allowed him to process it, or fight through himself, or whatever it was that he was feeling. After nearly five minutes of silence, he opened his mouth and looked at me intensely, full of that fire that I'd once thought I'd never be able to douse. Perhaps I was more than a drop of water. Perhaps I'd never be an ocean, but maybe he didn't need me to be. Maybe he didn't need me to put him out. Maybe he just needed me to be there for him while he found a way to stifle his own flames.</p><p>"All right," he said. "You may."</p><p>I moved my hand down his stomach and onto his length. Like the rest of him, it was cool to the touch. As I gently gripped him, he grunted and went from flaccid to hard in seconds. In my training, I'd learned that it could take some men several minutes to be aroused. But I remembered that he'd never been touched. That inexperienced men could be faster.</p><p>As I stroked him softly, he groaned gripping my shoulders, eyes squeezed shut. I began to go tighter, faster, but then he brought his hand to mine and pulled it away from him.</p><p>"Stop," he said gruffly, looking at me with intensity, "I'm...I'm about to- And I want to be able to-"</p><p>"I will stop."</p><p>"I want to touch you" he said.</p><p>I allowed it. Of course.</p><p>And I nearly collapsed in his arms as he worked on me. When my legs began to tremble and I fell into him with euphoria, he whispered to me, "I want you, Christine."</p><p>"I need you," I breathed.</p><p>"Then tell me what you want me to do." He brought his hand away.</p><p>If I was to take the lead, I would be as good of a lover as I could tonight. And I would do the work as he enjoyed it. I looked up at him. "Put on the lambskin and lie down."</p><p>His eyes widened with anticipation, disbelief, and love. He picked up the lambskin and did as he was told. As soon as he was on his back, I joined him on the bed. I went to my knees, legs on either side of him.</p><p>His breathing was rough. "Christine."</p><p>"Do you want to stop?"</p><p>"No. No, I don't. But I...I don't know how to explain it. I'm afraid. But happy. I don't know-"</p><p>"Don't be afraid, my love," I said, wondering at my own confidence. I didn't know where it came from, but I didn't want to question it. I wanted it to stay. I put myself in his mind and scanned through what he might be afraid of. "I will not hurt you. I won't force you. I won't judge you. I think you're handsome. You're good. You deserve all the love I have to give you."</p><p>His eyes widened at my words. Before he could speak, I leaned down to kiss him, deeply. When I pulled away, I reached my hand down, like I'd been trained, for his member. I positioned it just right and brought myself down so that he was inside me.</p><p>Amir had told me that it could hurt the first time. But I was so relaxed, so happy, that it didn't. There was pressure, yes, and a moment of discomfort. But it was good. I moved on top of him; even if I hadn't been trained, I would have done so instinctively.</p><p>I gasped at the feeling. It didn't feel quite as good as his hands or tongue did, but it was so nice. Erik, on the other hand, had his hands on my hips. His face was open in pleasure; eyes staring at me in wonder and mouth rounded.</p><p>I liked that expression.</p><p>I sped up my movements.</p><p>His back arched and he moaned my name. His legs shook and he moved his hands from my hips to the sheets, gripping them. I felt his manhood pulsate inside me, knew that the lambskin had filled.</p><p>I laughed softly, full of adoration. I leaned down again and kissed his cheek as his moans and gasps filled my ears like music.</p><p>The loveliest music.</p>
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<a name="section0063"><h2>63. The Announcement</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>It wasn't long at all before Vincenzo and Luciana were married.</p><p>He asked for her hand a month after the start of their courtship. I think the only reason they took the month at all was to see how they'd fair as a couple - it wasn't as though they really needed time to get to know each other. They'd been friends for years.</p><p>Two months after their engagement, they were husband and wife.</p><p>It hurt. Every time I thought about it, I felt my heart break a little bit more. But I had to be happy for them. I had to put on a smile and congratulate their love. She wasn't mine. She never had been. I couldn't let them know of my feelings; I had to stop feeling so envious.</p><p>I had to accept that this was how things were and keep moving.</p><p>I decided that staying idle was doing me no good. So I made myself busy instead. I studied languages. I continued my skills: old ones like music and more recent ones like engineering. I took on brand new skills.</p><p>Self-defense, for example.</p><p>The type of self-defense that Giovanni would teach me was the same that he taught Luciana. How to use fists and feet. Everyday objects. Knives.</p><p>Lassos.</p><p>Lasso-work was today's lesson. It had been yesterday's as well.</p><p>Giovanni stood facing me on the Inn's flat roof. He had one hand behind his back; the other held to his cane. Even with the limp, he stood tall. Take the cane away and no one would never know.</p><p>"Now," he said, and smiled, "the lasso, being a larger weapon, is good to use only if you can hide it. Bring it if you are wearing a large jacket...a long coat...robes, perhaps. Something with substantial pockets. But the rope shouldn't be too thick, or it will never fit in any type of clothing. Too thin, and it is easily broken. But we discussed all of this last time, didn't we?"</p><p>"Yes, sir." In the cold winter air, I wore my mask and, indeed, a knee-length coat.</p><p>"And you did as I asked?"</p><p>"Yes, sir," I said again, and reached into the pocket of the coat, bringing out the lasso I'd made. He'd taught me how to tie the knot; I practiced last night with this rope, as per his instructions, until I had it correct.</p><p>"Excellent." He brought out his own lasso from his jacket. "Now, watch my hand for how I throw it."</p><p>He practiced with me for hours, nonstop, until the sun began to set. Never impatient - at least, his face didn't reveal the emotion. Completely understanding of mistakes. I believed I almost had it down to perfection when he put his lasso away.</p><p>"Very good, Erik." He nodded approvingly. "That was excellent. We will continue this tomorrow."</p><p>My wrist and arm were sore, but I felt determination. "Sir, I can continue. I am not in the least bit tired."</p><p>"Ah, but I am." Giovanni smiled at me. "Go and fetch Carmelo. Get the table in the cellar ready for dinner. Food should be ready in..." He checked his pocket-watch. "Oh, I'd say a half an hour, if the cooks are truthful."</p><p>"Yes, sir." I wanted to ask him, as always, if he wanted any help down the stairs. But I'd offered him help before, and he always said no. That he'd rather take ten minutes on his own than two minutes leaning on someone else. I would keep quiet.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>"I took a peek into the kitchen. We are having steak."</p><p>Carmelo and I set the table with plates, napkins, glasses and silverware. Carmelo worked quickly. I found, after knowing him a while, that he enjoyed simple, repetitive tasks such as this. Complex tasks like reading, unless he had great interest, were a lost cause.</p><p>I looked up at him from the plate I'd just set down in Vincenzo's spot. "Oh, yes?" To be honest, I didn't care. Food was something I consumed to survive; Carmelo looked forward to meals.</p><p>"Yes." He smiled. "Green beans, it looks like, as well. Pasta. And for dessert, cannelloni."</p><p>I looked at him quizzically. I'd had cannelloni before - it certainly wasn't a baked good. "Isn't that also a pasta dish?"</p><p>He blinked, and then laughed. "Yes. Sorry. Not cannelloni...er. It's...it's the tube dessert with cream filling."</p><p>I knew immediately what he was talking about. "Do you mean-"</p><p>"No, don't tell me!" He put up his hands. "I want to try to figure it out."</p><p>I smirked and continued setting the table.</p><p>"Cantoli."</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Hm. Cantoli...Cannetoli? Catolini."</p><p>"You're getting further away." I grinned.</p><p>"Don't tell me though."</p><p>"How is it," I asked, "that the native Italian speaker can't remember the word, but the Frenchman can?"</p><p>He thought, then his face lit up. "Cannelloni! No."</p><p>I laughed.</p><p>He continued setting the table with me, muttering to himself iterations of the wrong answer, when he at last let out a gasp. "Cannoli!"</p><p>"There it is," I said.</p><p>"What about cannoli?"</p><p>Salvatore, who'd just spoken, and Vincenzo descended the stairs with platters of food; this was the norm. Carmelo and I set the table; Salvatore and Vincenzo brought dinner from the kitchen. Luciana and one other person helped clear. Before, it had been her and me. Now it was her and her new husband.</p><p>"We are having it," responded Carmelo.</p><p>"Oh. Yes. I can see that. I have them in my right hand."</p><p>They dropped the food in the middle of the table. Giovanni and Luciana arrived, and we all sat to first pray, and then eat. As I sat next to Carmelo and Salvatore, I had to keep my eyes averted from the rings on Vincenzo's and Luciana's fingers.</p><p>I started into the pasta, and after some time, Vincenzo stood and tapped his fork against his wine glass. Everyone turned to look. He smiled his handsome smile, looking elated. Luciana looked happy as well.</p><p>"I have an announcement to make." He nodded to Luciana's father. "Giovanni already knows."</p><p>Giovanni nodded back, eyes shining.</p><p>"We are excited to tell you all," he said, "that Luciana and I are expecting."</p>
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<a name="section0064"><h2>64. The Celebration</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>I was awoken with a kiss on the forehead.</p><p>I moved closer to Erik, nuzzling into his neck.</p><p>"I love you," he whispered.</p><p>"Iluyutew," I murmured.</p><p>He chuckled, and kissed the top of my head. "You're quite eloquent when you're tired."</p><p>"Shh. Sleep-time."</p><p>His lips met the top of my head one more time before he whispered, "Merry Christmas."</p><p>My eyes flew open and I drew back. He laughed fully.</p><p>"It's Christmas?" I whispered.</p><p>"Mhmm."</p><p>"Why didn't you tell me sooner that Christmas was nearing-"</p><p>"I wanted to surprise you. I could see how little you were paying attention to the date, and-"</p><p>"I can't believe I didn't realize Christmas was coming," I said, although half of me knew how silly it was to focus on that, given everything that had happened recently. "I wish you'd told me. I would have planned a gift for you."</p><p>In the dark, I could see that he smirked. "Not to be rude, my darling, but what exactly would you have given me? Put a ribbon on Ayesha and surprised me with her? And unless you've learned to scale the walls of the palace, I doubt you've been to the markets lately."</p><p>"I could have...I don't know...drawn you something?"</p><p>He smiled at me and pulled me into him again. I melted. "All I want," he said, "is you with me."</p><p>I sighed. "That's all I want too."</p><p>He held me for a while, and then said, "I do, actually, have a gift for you today."</p><p>"Is it Christmas lovemaking?"</p><p>"I have two gifts for you today."</p><p>I smiled. It was in these moments, when Erik was himself, that I forgot about what happened with the Echo those few days ago. I forgot that I had people who'd gladly kill me, that he did too. I forgot his talk of secrets, and how I'd be hurt or hateful at the revelation of whatever truth it hid. For so much of the day, I had a constant sense of doom lurking in the recesses of my mind. I could see that same feeling in him. But holding on to each other like this, talking softly, we could pretend that the rest of the world had been washed away and it was only us left.</p><p>"Can I have one of those gifts now?" I asked him, bringing my hand to his bare back. He was naked. I was as well. That was how we slept since we'd first shared our bodies. Since that night, since he'd seen my love and patience, his fear had dissolved - replaced by trust.</p><p>"One of those gifts is with Ibrahim," he responded, "and I'm not keen on him visiting right this moment." He ran a finger over my hip. "He'll be by later to drop it off here."</p><p>"What about the other gift?"</p><p>"That," he said, "you can have whenever you wish."</p><p>He rolled on top of me and kissed me. He asked me if he could try being on top this time.</p><p>I said yes. He used his hands first. Then put on lambskin. Then he was inside me.</p><p>As he moved, I focused on his face. The noises of pleasure he emitted. The love in his eyes. But I also thought about how, yesterday, just before we'd gone to sleep, he'd taken me to the two-way mirror at the Khanum's chambers, not daring to leave me behind. I thought about how he said cruel things to her, making her think herself insane. How he made himself appear evil for everyone except for a select group of people. How I was one of those people - I knew him for him, and I was grateful for that.</p><p>He stopped suddenly. "Christine?"</p><p>"Yes?"</p><p>"I want to marry you."</p><p>My breath caught in my throat. "I want that too." And I did. I really did.</p><p>"We can't while we are here," he said, "for obvious reasons. No one - not even a priest - can know our feelings. But if we both make it out of here alive, I am going to marry you the first chance I have."</p><p>If, he said. If we make it out of here alive. Like it wasn't a guarantee.</p><p>I gripped his shoulders a little tighter and closed my eyes.</p><p>Of course it wasn't.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>Christmas. Today was Christmas. </p><p>While I bathed, I couldn't stop picturing my father - should he be alive - alone today. This was always our favorite holiday, and to imagine him by himself, staring into a fire, snow falling outside, made a lump form in my throat.</p><p>I missed him so much.</p><p>But I submerged myself deeper into the water, forcing the thought from my mind. Today had to be a good day - Erik, clearly, was trying to make it so. I could think about Papa later. I picked up the bath brush and scrubbed myself clean - scrubbed the sorrow away as well.</p><p>I had just stepped out of the bathtub when I heard, from the other side of the bathing room door, chatter and laughter. One of the voices was Ibrahim's.</p><p>I pulled on my clothes and brushed my hair. And when I left the room, I saw the Grand Vizier sitting and smiling at Erik. But it wasn't a phony smile. It was real. He was happy again.</p><p>He saw me, smile widening. "Rose!"</p><p>"Merry Christmas, Ibrahim." I walked into the room and sat across from him, next to Erik, who immediately put an arm around me. I noticed that, next to the Grand Vizier on the couch, was a gold silk bag, large, about an arm's length in depth.</p><p>"Merry Christmas to you both." He turned to the bag and pulled out a large blue book, embellished with silver colored patterns. He held it out to me. "This is from Erik to you."</p><p>"What is it?" I looked at him, then to Erik, who smiled very slightly. I turned the book over in my hands a couple of times, and then opened it. Blank.</p><p>I smiled, turning again to Erik. "Is this another story about the Prince and the Maiden?" I placed the book on my head, just as he had that day he'd visited me - that morning I was still paralyzed in Nadir's house. Erik laughed, deeply. Ibrahim looked puzzled, but pleased at our humor. Erik brought the book from my head and closed it, handing it back to me. "It's for you to draw in, actually, but use it as you'd wish."</p><p>"Oh!" I held the book, opening it again. Excellent quality, thick paper, I realized. Absolutely perfect to make art. I took Erik's hand in mine and gazed at him. "Thank you."</p><p>Erik's eyes softened, losing their mirth and being replaced with adoration.</p><p>Ibrahim spoke up again. "And I have a gift for both of you, as well."</p><p>"Really?" said Erik. "Rather merry of you - emulating the true spirit of Christmas."</p><p>"Giving?"</p><p>"Spending money. Feeding the ever-growing beast that is commercialism."</p><p>Ibrahim pulled out, first, a red box from the bag. He gave it to me. I opened it and my eyebrows raised in immediate pleasure. "Pens!"</p><p>"High-quality pens!" Ibrahim grinned, leaning forward, hands on his knees. "For your high-quality paper."</p><p>"Thank you, Ibrahim. That's so kind." I put the pens on top of the book and looked at the bag. "What did you get Erik?"</p><p>"Yes, Vizier," said Erik, genuine curiosity in his tone, "what did you get me?"</p><p>Ibrahim brought out another book, this one a rich brown color, lined with gold. He held it out to Erik. "Take a look and see what I found for you."</p><p>Erik opened the book and inhaled audibly. He straightened and flipped through it, thumbing page to page. I looked over - and saw only music notes.</p><p>"It is a book of compositions, all classic Persian songs. Fifty or so new pieces for you to learn."</p><p>"Thank you, Ibrahim." Erik looked up at him. "I actually do appreciate it."</p><p>"I am glad my gifts please you." Ibrahim sat back in his seat. "I hope you make good use of them."</p><p>"I definitely will," I said. I wanted to take out the pens now, start drawing immediately, but I restrained myself. I was about to apologize for not getting Ibrahim a gift, when Erik spoke instead.</p><p>"You seem in a very good mood, Ibrahim," he said.</p><p>"Well, it's Christmas, is it not?"</p><p>Erik tilted his head, and Ibrahim finally laughed.</p><p>"Yes, I admit." He paused, smiling softly. "Well...yes, I will tell you. I received another letter from the Prince."</p><p>"Oh?" I perked up even further. "And what did he say?"</p><p>"He...well, he didn't say it outright, as none of our letters are explicit in our meanings. But he did say that he is coming to Tehran in two weeks' time. He implied heavily that he wishes to talk." He paused. "I cannot guarantee that it will have a good outcome, but it gives me hope, and that is all I can ask for, yes?"</p><p>Just then, the door to Erik's chambers unlocked. It opened.</p><p>Before anyone could react, before we could worry who it was, we all watched with wide eyes as Nadir entered the room. He saw all of us staring back at him, stood a bit taller, and closed the door behind him.</p><p>A beat. Then Erik spoke, voice chilly. "I don't believe I invited you."</p><p>"You did not." His voice was neutral.</p><p>I looked briefly first at Erik, then Ibrahim. Both men were stony-eyed as they took in the Daroga.</p><p>"I came to pass on information," said Nadir softly. "But first, I wanted to apologize."</p><p>"I'd rather you give your information and go," said Erik. "I don't need your apologies or-"</p><p>"I was wrong," Nadir interrupted. "I should have investigated. I shouldn't have pointed blame. And I shouldn't have been so greedy with your time, Erik."</p><p>Erik's stiff shoulders softened ever-so-slightly.</p><p>"I have been blinded by my need for control. And you-" He sighed and closed his eyes. "Erik, you do deserve happiness. I am glad you have Christine. And Christine-" He looked at me. "I am sorry that I ever made myself seem a threat to you."</p><p>I looked down.</p><p>"Ibrahim," Nadir continued, "I spoke to you in a disrespectful way. I was upset that day - scared, even-"</p><p>"I do not want your excuses," said Ibrahim, waving his words away. "If you are here to apologize, do not give me excuses."</p><p>"You're right," he said softly. "There was no excuse."</p><p>No one responded, and so Nadir moved his glasses further up his nose.</p><p>"Well, I've said my piece. What you choose to do with it is your prerogative, I suppose. As for the information." His lips thinned. "There is no execution tonight. Or for the foreseeable future for that matter."</p><p>Erik stilled. I did too.</p><p>"Due to," he continued, "a particularly bad bout of hallucinations last night, and several nights prior-" Nadir glanced at Erik- "the Khanum does not want to see anyone except for her ladies. She no longer wants to eat or drink. Ibrahim has been urging the Shah to send his mother somewhere else for months, as you know, Erik; that her madness could be healed by spending time away in a seaside estate. Part of the reason, of course, that we've planned to make her mad at all - a reason to send her away. But the Shah refuses even now. He won't let her go - he loves his mother too much and wants her close. But he also refuses to do anything about it, even as she won't to get out of bed. He is waiting for the problem to go away."</p><p>"And what if the problem does not go away," asked Erik lowly, eyes taking in Nadir with intensity, "and she merely fades from existence, trapped in her own mind?"</p><p>"Then one of our problems goes away, instead, doesn't it?"</p>
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<a name="section0065"><h2>65. The Necklace</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>The Wolves came for the second-to-last time when I was sixteen; when Luciana was a month away from her due date.</p><p>The news of her pregnancy hadn't shocked me. But it did cause something to rupture. It wasn't grief I felt - it was resignation. There was no hope - no hope anymore - of her and me ever being anything more than friends. She was carrying Vincenzo's child. And I? I would never even find love. Luciana, I think, was the only girl who'd ever look at me with any kind of affection.</p><p>I still loved her. Even if I accepted she would never love me, I still did. I would do so from afar. I would have to be content with that.</p><p>The entire family, of course, was ecstatic at the announcement of her pregnancy.</p><p>The wolves, upon finding out, were interested by it.</p><p>The last time they'd visited had been just before Luciana's and Vincenzo's announcement. And now that they'd come again, we hid Luciana upstairs in the bedroom she shared with Vincenzo. She was compliant about the affair; passive. That was one of a few things that I didn't care for when it came to her marriage - she'd changed. No longer the willful girl she'd been, she'd become, instead, his pretty little wife. Not that, it seemed, he asked for that. It appeared to be something she decided on herself.</p><p>It wasn't my business, really, but...I missed her. I missed her spitfire nature. I hoped her personality would return after a while, and that this was merely a post-wedding phase.</p><p>But I couldn't think about that now.</p><p>Mario sat in his chair, facing all five of us - Giovanni, Vincenzo, Carmelo, Salvatore, and me. Four of his men were behind him, a row of stone gargoyles, cold and grimacing. Signor Cardacci, a fair-skinned man with a sharp nose, smiled crookedly.</p><p>"So," he said to Giovanni, voice slithering through the air, "I hear that your brat is with child. You must have kept it to yourself quite well, as I am only just now hearing of it. Why keep it so secret?"</p><p>"I merely figured it was no one's concern but ours," he said nonchalantly. To this day, I wasn't sure if he was actually frightened of Mario - he cloaked his emotions quite well. "How did you find out?"</p><p>"I have eyes and ears everywhere - you should know that by now." He raked his eyes slowly across us, lingering momentarily on each face. "Who's the father? Hopefully not the African or the demon-faced monstrosity. I'd say that I know it isn't her brother, but knowing your ilk, I can't be certain-"</p><p>"It's me," said Vincenzo as Carmelo twisted his face in revulsion - I felt a bit ill as well. "No point lying about it now, is there?"</p><p>Mario set his features into an expression of disgust. "Letting your daughter fuck a Gypsy-"</p><p>"We can discuss my family's affairs another time, if you please," said Giovanni, as I saw Vincenzo's emotions whet themselves upon Mario's words, sharpen into something feral. "How much are you asking for today?"</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>"We are at least fortunate to have you," muttered Vincenzo, as we walked our way back from the plaza. Carmelo had his head down, listening, on the other side of him. Vincenzo looked at me. "Your skills as a thief may have actually saved one or two of us from a beating. Somehow - by the grace of God - we actually had enough for Mario today."</p><p>And we'd certainly replenished some of what we'd lost tonight.</p><p>"Thank you," I said in response. The darkened summer sky enveloped us, giving us safety and cover. No one suspected us; but it gave us relief regardless.</p><p>"No," said Vincenzo. He stopped walking. "Thank you."</p><p>I stopped walking as well and turned to look at him; Carmelo followed suit. Vincenzo's eyes mirrored the stars and moon above us as he lifted his head and regarded me with a gentle intensity. "Erik, I don't say it enough. You are an asset to us; valuable, yes, but we - I - see you as family. You're a little brother to me." He stopped and pushed his tongue into his cheek. "And - and I wish I was as good a thief as you."</p><p>I had to take a step back in my surprise. Cocky Vincenzo - envious of my skills.</p><p>"If I was as good a thief as you..." he continued, as Carmelo tapped his fingers on his legs - I could see he was becoming antsy and wanted to continue walking. "Erik, if I was as good a thief as you, I would feel confident enough to break into Mario's home and retrieve the necklace he stole from Giovanni's wife."</p><p>Carmelo did look up at that. "That would be the gift," he said with a slight smile, "that would ensure Luciana loves you for the rest of her life. She wants that necklace more than anything."</p><p>"I didn't know that," I said, feeling unreasonably jealous that there were desires she'd kept from me.</p><p>But when Vincenzo said he didn't know either, I felt a bit better.</p><p>Carmelo blushed. "Maybe I wasn't meant to say anything...but...yes. She says it's the last piece of our mother left, and she wants it." He stopped, thoughts crossing his eyes. "To be honest, I want it too. So does our father. But it's with Mario, and we are never getting it back."</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>Vincenzo didn't attempt to retrieve the necklace. But Luciana did love him the rest of her life. Her very short life. She left us on her due date.</p><p>Gone in an instant. Just like that.</p><p>No forewarning. Gone. So fast I didn't process it; so fast that it didn't seem real. It seemed to be a dream, one that I'd surely wake from.</p><p>But I didn't wake. And neither did she. She was dead by morning.</p><p>She took her daughter with her.</p><p>And for a moment - just a moment - I thought about joining them.</p><p>But Giovanni's words rang in my ears, the words he'd said four years ago:</p><p>"If you are going to choose to die, die for something bigger than yourself."</p><p>My family was grieving. All of us. Our grief was a battlefield, and we were soldiers in it. We had to fight it. We couldn't let it win.</p><p>I couldn't let it win.</p><p>I had to march on.</p><p>And I had to defeat those that had caused it. I had to.</p><p>But though I couldn't defeat death, there was someone else who had caused us pain - caused Luciana pain.</p><p>And I could take back what he stole.</p>
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<a name="section0066"><h2>66. The Lotus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>The morning after Christmas, Erik went to bathe before me. He had only been gone from the study a few seconds when I, naked as the day I was born, made a snap decision. I jumped from where I slept and ran after him. I stopped the door to the bathing room from closing behind him. Surprised, he opened it fully, looking me up and down. He smiled.</p><p>"Need to use the toilet, Christine? Must be an emergency for you to scurry like that." He put a hand on his hip. He'd changed back into his nightclothes to walk to the bathing room.</p><p>I shook my head and smiled back. "Do you remember...I think it was the third day I was here? When you asked me if I wanted to join you in the bath?"</p><p>His smile faltered, a flicker of emotion lighting his eyes. "Yes. I do."</p><p>"Well," I said, moving closer, sliding my arms around his waist as he took a deep breath at the contact, "now I'd like to."</p><p>My father told me that people were like books - that all lives were stories, but some people's faces were easier to read than others. Even when he hid behind his sarcasm, Erik had never been a difficult book. It was a shame, really, that he wore a mask so much of his life, because Erik's story was beautiful. I was at least glad that his eyes and mouth were as expressive as they were, so that even when his face was behind silk, I could see his soul. Every single movement of his face told a story, a poem; his emotions were the writer - his eyes the rhyme and mouth the rhythm.</p><p>And right now, his face told me that, yes, this was something he wanted as much as I did.</p><p>He pulled me in as I held onto him and closed the bathing room door behind him. While he made to undress, I filled the tub with water. When there was decidedly enough to dip ourselves into, Erik kissed my forehead. He went leg by leg into the tub, and then took my hands and helped me in as well. He sat. I followed.</p><p>But feeling entirely too far away from him, facing him like this, I turned around so that my back was against his stomach, his legs on the outside of mine. I leaned back and put my hands on his thin thighs, stroking them softly. He inhaled a bit raggedly, and my lips turned themselves upward at the feeling of him hardening behind me.</p><p>I reached behind me, found him, and moved my hand up and down. He groaned softly, bringing his arms around me.</p><p>I went a bit faster, and he tensed, emitting more lovely sounds of pleasure. But then he asked me stop.</p><p>"I don't want to dirty the water - and you keep going as you are, I certainly will."</p><p>I nodded and moved my hand away, bringing it to his thigh again. I watched, then, as his own fingers picked up my rose-soap. He dipped it in the water.</p><p>"May I clean you?" he asked, playfulness in every syllable.</p><p>I laughed. "Yes, please."</p><p>He lathered the soap in his hands and brought it to my chest, moving it with slow sensuality over my breasts, stomach, and arms. The lower half of my body tingled with want, and I moaned very softly, closing my eyes.</p><p>He brought water to the places he'd cleaned, washing away the suds. He kissed my shoulder, lingering his lips there, and brought his hands once more to my chest. One stayed on my breast, while the other trailed with infuriating laziness over my sternum, down to my naval, and finally down to my most sensitive body part.</p><p>I gasped as he found the piece of me that caused the most pleasure and played with it, like a he was playing an instrument. I wondered if this was how he learned most skills - self-taught but quickly an expert. And, like an instrument, he seemed to know exactly how to move his fingers to make me emit certain sounds.</p><p>I laid my head back on his shoulder as I felt myself crack open and euphoric light poured through.</p><p>"Erik," I said softly, and at hearing his name said in the midst of my rapture, he shuddered.</p><p>"I'm drying you off," he said, "and taking you back to bed."</p><p>I opened my eyes, still in a bit of a daze. "We'll need to bathe again."</p><p>He stood up behind me and pulled me up too. "We absolutely will."</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>"Erik?"</p><p>He looked up at me from where he sat, across the table, on the other couch. We'd taken our second bath (actually getting ourselves clean this time) and were now sitting down to breakfast.</p><p>"Yes?"</p><p>"If Nadir has apologized for...I think he said 'being greedy with your time'..."</p><p>"Yes." He put down the cup of coffee he'd been holding and listened.</p><p>"Does that mean," I continued, moving a bit of egg around with my fork, "that you no longer need to make the..."</p><p>"Torture chamber?" he finished for me, averting his eyes, bare face setting in a frown. "No, it doesn't mean that."</p><p>The way he now wouldn't look at me, my mind flashed back to his mention of a secret he couldn't tell me. My stomach twisted at the memory.</p><p>Not now. Not right now. The day started with such beauty - don't bring up his secret.</p><p>"Nadir," he continued, staring at his plate of food, "still very much wants his revenge on the Shah. He does not want me killing the Shah without it. He is insistent upon the torture chamber, and taking that away from him could be a dangerous thing." He finally brought his eyes to mine. "He apologized, but that doesn't make him any less ruthless. He can be crueler than his ruler, should he wish to be. I've seen it - the way he deals with petty criminals is frighteningly cold. And that is coming from the Angel of Death." He gave an emotionless smile. "All that's changed by that apology is that he is now willing to leave me alone when it comes to my relationship with you."</p><p>A knock at the door. Erik sighed in annoyance but got up to open it. And on the other side was Ibrahim.</p><p>"I saw breakfast being delivered," the Grand Vizier said, walking in with a smile, "and I was hoping you'd share."</p><p>"Don't you get breakfast delivered to your own chambers?" Erik asked, closing the door.</p><p>"Yes, but they forgot my apricots," he answered, making himself at home next to where Erik was sitting. "And look - plenty of apricots right here! You're not going to eat these, are you, Erik?"</p><p>"Those are Christine's." Erik followed and sat next to me. He picked up his drink and lifted it, as if in a toast. "I drink coffee."</p><p>Ibrahim looked at me. "Rose?"</p><p>"Go ahead." I put down my plate and picked up my tea. "You can have them."</p><p>The Grand Vizier picked up an apricot and bit into it, humming and closing his eyes at the taste. I smiled, but Erik rolled his eyes. "You're quite the gentleman, taking food from a lady's plate."</p><p>Ibrahim's mouth was full. He opened his eyes and gestured to me. "She said I could have it!"</p><p>"Because she's polite, you wild animal."</p><p>"It's fine." My mood had lifted considerably since the talk of Nadir. "Really, I wasn't that hungry, anyway."</p><p>Erik crossed his arms and watched with veiled disgust as Ibrahim continued eating the fruit. I merely sipped at my tea, trying to hide my grin.</p><p>"So," he said, as the Grand Vizier took the last few bites of apricot, "only here for a visit, or is there another reason you have graced us with your presence?"</p><p>"Here to visit friends," Ibrahim said, putting the stem of the fruit onto a napkin and folding it. "I quite enjoyed that Christmas celebration yesterday - if my dear parents ever discovered I had celebrated an infidel holiday, they'd surely lose their heads - religious people, you see. But...well, I suppose there are more dire things they could discover about me, aren't there?" He smiled, but held a hint of that pain he'd spoken of before - the fact that there were so few who knew his true self - who understood and accepted him.</p><p>Erik, I think, was thinking the same. "I am glad to see you in better spirits, Vizier."</p><p>Ibrahim's smile finally reached his eyes. "Yes, I-"</p><p>"But you said once before that this isn't the real you," he continued softly, watching him. "We already know many of each other's secrets - you don't have to put on an act, if you don't wish to."</p><p>Ibrahim's expression softened. He looked back at him for a while, taking him in, then looked at me. He came to some conclusion, then nodded his head. "With the two of you," he said finally, "it is not an act." His eyes lingered on me for a minute. "I must ask you something."</p><p>"Me?" I said.</p><p>"Yes." His smile left. "Do you not wish to be called Rose?"</p><p>My brows lifted. "Oh. I-"</p><p>"I did not think about how it might affect your emotions, until this morning. Do you wish for me to no longer call you by that name?"</p><p>"I-" I blinked. I think that if it was anyone else, it would have bothered me. But he always said it with such affection, like it was a term of endearment. "I don't mind one way or another."</p><p>He nodded, seeming to genuinely take my words into consideration. He looked down. "I... I think I have existed in a sort of privilege."</p><p>"You?" said Erik in a faux shocked voice. "Privileged? As the second most powerful man in Persia? No." But he said it gently - remembering, of course, that there were aspects of Ibrahim's life that were certainly not shrouded in silver and gold.</p><p>"I do mean it," said Ibrahim. His face was suddenly hard. He looked at me. "I have to admit that I have never given much thought as to what being a Flower is like."</p><p>Erik uncrossed his arms. I furrowed my brow. "Oh...oh, it's fine," I said. "I mean, of course you haven't. It's not something that really...concerns you, is it?"</p><p>"As part of the royal court, it absolutely should." He thinned his lips. "The newest Flower in the Garden has been...difficult to train."</p><p>I sat up a little straighter. Erik narrowed his eyes and asked, "What do you mean?"</p><p>Ibrahim's stern face turned to Erik. "She is not compliant. Only so obedient as to not be punished. But she is...intentionally slow to learn. She has been dubbed The Lotus, and comes from China. My first reaction to this news was to think...why not simply comply? Surely she will be punished eventually for her insolence. But-" He sighed. "I would not want to comply either, I think."</p><p>A knock at the door. Again.</p><p>"Now who could that be?" asked Erik, getting up. "Can't be Nadir. As of late, he's taken after me and forgotten how to knock."</p><p>He opened the door a second time. I watched as a male servant handed him something, and then bowed and walked away. Erik closed the door and turned, staring at the object in his hand. It was an envelope.</p><p>"What is it?" asked Ibrahim, also standing, as Erik opened it and pulled out a letter. "A kill command? If so, it must be urgent - the Shah usually gives them to me to hand to you."</p><p>Erik's bare face whitened as he read. He looked up slowly to Ibrahim. "It is."</p><p>"Who is it you must execute?"</p><p>"The Khanum's ladies." Erik seemed not to breathe. "For their negligence. The Shah wants them put to death for letting his mother lock herself in the bathroom, for not noticing the knife she took in with her. For not acting before she was able to bleed herself out in the tub."</p>
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<a name="section0067"><h2>67. The Spider</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>For all of Giovanni's constant precautions when it came to his daughter's safety, for all of his anxieties that he'd lose her like he lost his wife, Giovanni couldn't stop the forces of irony. He couldn't stop the fact that Luciana died the exact same way her mother did. He couldn't stop the fact that it was a domestic life, not a dangerous one, that killed her.</p><p>She'd started labor a little past midnight. Vincenzo, Giovanni, and Carmelo sat outside her room as the midwife coaxed and soothed the process along. I sat with Salvatore in my room, both of us silent, as though our quiet lips would help the world concentrate on a safe delivery. I wasn't bound to her by blood or marriage, and neither was he. So we waited a room away.</p><p>But then, hours later, Giovanni opened the door, face stained with tears. It wasn't in happiness. My throat tightened. Something was terribly wrong.</p><p>And when he told us, I-</p><p>I lost myself.</p><p>My mind shattered into a million sharp, angry, grieving pieces, scattered itself across the room, across Venice, across Europe - I thought I'd never have the time or energy to collect myself again. And I sobbed deeply. I felt arms around me - I didn't know if they were Salvatore's or Giovanni's or both. But it didn't matter. It wasn't them I wanted near. But the person I wished for would never be near again.</p><p>It was my fault.</p><p>Like with every other person I'd lost, it was because of me she was dead.</p><p>If I'd only told her I loved her, maybe she would have rethought her feelings. And I could have...I could have protected her from this fate. I could have avoided a pregnancy...somehow. I didn't know exactly what I could have done to predict and prevent this, really, but... But things would have been different had I expressed myself - even if she didn't love me back, perhaps she would have given pause before marrying Vincenzo. Perhaps...perhaps...</p><p>My heart ached.</p><p>My mind pounded.</p><p>Everything hurt.</p><p>Her hips were too narrow, the midwife said. I'd always thought that - how small she was. She had to deliver by Caesarian section, and neither she nor the baby made it.</p><p>Carmelo refused to leave his room for nearly a week.</p><p>Vincenzo looked absolutely lifeless - but he kept moving. He kept marching. As we all had to. Somehow, we had to find a way.</p><p>I blamed myself, but I wanted to blame him too. I wanted to hate Vincenzo for taking Luciana away from me. But then I remembered Mario; how Signor Cardacci blamed Giovanni for the exact same thing, and how unfair that was.</p><p>Mario.</p><p>I wanted to hurt someone. I wanted to take revenge. But how do I seek vengeance from death? It was impossible. Death was unstoppable - I of all people should know that. But there was one person I could hurt. A person who'd hurt us. Who'd hurt Luciana.</p><p>Mario took the necklace from the Billisis - he took a remnant of Luciana's mother. And she'd died before ever seeing it again.</p><p>I could give her a gift, even as she lay in her grave.</p><p>I could bring back what she'd lost.</p><p>I'd never have her next to me on the roof again, laughing and watching the setting sun, but I could do this. This last show of love, since I'd been too coward to express it in words.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>It was three-thirty in the morning, and the cloudless night sky allowed the moon to shine its dull, pale, lifeless light onto me as I stared in hatred at the Cardacci estate - a hatred as sharp and biting as the late autumn air.</p><p>Two of his men were posted outside of the door to his estate as I watched from the shadows between two buildings across the street. I was a shadow myself - soundless and unassuming, but there, lurking where the light couldn't reach. And no light, surely, would ever reach me again.</p><p>I took a deep breath and threw my voice, made it sound like it was coming from the side of the house. A baby's cry. A very convincing one.</p><p>The guard closer to that side of the house raised his brows in clear confusion. He looked to the other guard and said something low - I was too far away to make it out. He left to go investigate. But the other man stayed posted.</p><p>I tried another tactic. From the same side of the house where I'd sent my voice to sound like a baby, I made a high pitched shattering noise to sound like window being broken.</p><p>Without hesitation, the posted guard ran to meet his partner.</p><p>Checking the bottom-floor windows once more to ensure that they were indeed dark, I moved on quiet feet to the house. And I did have to be as quick as possible. If either of them came back any time soon, I would be done for.</p><p>I made fast work of picking the lock, opened the door, and closed it with extreme softness. Only when it was again locked from the inside did I turn around.</p><p>I had no idea where Mario would keep a necklace. But if I were to have a piece of Luciana, I knew where I would hold it - as close to me as possible. Close to where I slept, so that I could have her with me in the black and lonely night.</p><p>Moving like a ghost through the house, I kept to the walls and corners, peeked around doorways. It seemed that everyone was asleep. The stairs were the most worrisome part - and luckily the estate was only two stories high. I walked up them with extreme slowness, testing each step gingerly for creaks; once at the top, I started my search for Mario's bedroom.</p><p>I went first to the door at the far end of the rightmost hall. This door, I found, was locked as well. No light was coming through the bottom - and I'd already come this far. So I picked that lock as well, making no noise. Not a sound was emitted, either, as I opened it and stepped inside.</p><p>My eyes, well adjusted to the dark now, confirmed that I was in the right place. There, in a large canopied bed, its curtains open, was Mario sound asleep. Hopefully a deep sleep.</p><p>And there, on his bedside table, was a silk-lined box.</p><p>I went to it, moved swiftly and silently, like a black spider after its prey, and found that it was a simple latch-box. I opened it, and found - yes.</p><p>A necklace.</p><p>I nearly scoffed. Surely it couldn't be this easy. Surely he wouldn't leave it out like this, where anyone could take it - surely any reasonable thief looking for it would go here first, and he-</p><p>A cold feeling washed over me.</p><p>Of course.</p><p>He wouldn't make it this easy, unless-</p><p>I didn't dare touch the necklace now. He'd know who it was - who took it. He was expecting this. Expecting a fox to come sniffing around his cave.</p><p>I closed the box and walked away, feeling foolish - impulsive. Feeling that grief had gotten the best of me and I should have known better. I turned to leave. I closed the door behind me, realizing that using my picks to lock it once more would take up precious time, so I couldn't think of that now.

</p><p>I couldn't use the doors to escape, I knew- not without coming up with yet another effective distraction. So I went to a room at random on the bottom floor: a sitting room, I noticed, and opened wide the window, stepping out on the side street. No one saw me leave; no one saw me close the window and go back home, leaving these fantasies of heroism and vengeance behind.</p><p>No, no one saw me do any of that.</p><p>But someone had seen a masked phantom entering their master's bedchambers, had seen his bony fingers turn the knob of the door.</p><p>Someone made sure to alert their master the moment the phantom disappeared.</p>
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<a name="section0068"><h2>68. The Prince</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>Four executions.</p><p>All in one night.</p><p>No magic. Simple. Bloody. Clean, deep cuts across the wrists, so that they should perish the way they allowed their Khanum to.</p><p>I was not to attend. The Shah did not want me there. This was not a dinner or a party. This was not a performance. This was a punishment. A retribution. There was nothing entertaining about it.</p><p>So I was taken to Nadir's house to wait for Erik to be done, to come and collect me.</p><p>And after this execution, the Shah wanted to cease Erik's magic shows. They had been, after all, a gift for his mother. She was gone. So now the Shah wanted Erik to focus on his gift to himself - the torture chamber. Criminals and rioters could be put to death the way they had before the Angel of Death, and the Angel could focus on his room of mirrors.</p><p>He, like Nadir, wanted the process hurried along.</p><p>His thirst for blood, I fear, had only worsened.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>I sat next to him where he stared absentmindedly at the keys of the piano. The bench was hard, but the last two weeks had been harder. For two reasons.</p><p>I missed hashish - though the cravings lessened with each setting of the sun. The fact that I knew Erik wanted me - needed me - sober helped to push that feeling away as well.</p><p>And what was more, every day since the execution of the ladies, he'd not entirely been himself - and I knew why. He felt that he'd not only killed them, but marked them for death in the first place. He felt that he was responsible for the Khanum's suicide, and now these women were taking the fall for him.</p><p>And although it was his voice that led her to madness, I reminded him that he couldn't have known she'd go this far. And he would remind me in turn that it had always been a possible outcome - that it was even something he and Nadir had discussed could happen.</p><p>"Even still." I took his hand where it rested on the keys. He allowed it. "You didn't choose to kill those women."</p><p>"I know, Christine." He closed his eyes. "But I can't be responsible for anymore innocent deaths."</p><p>"You don't have to be," I said softly. "The Shah released you from that duty."</p><p>"Until he's offended," he responded, voice bitter, "and requests my services once more. I can't do it again, Christine. I won't do it again. No more deaths. No more." He paused. "The first time I was made to kill here in Persia, I vomited. It was a shock. And I thought I couldn't continue. But I did. And I became used to it. But now that the Shah has told me that these women are the last, it's as though I've reverted back to my first night here. It's as though my tolerance has gone, and the thought of taking another life has me sick to my stomach."</p><p>I rested my head on his shoulder. I didn't know what to say.</p><p>Eventually, he was able to continue our lesson. And it was during our lesson that Ibrahim came to the door. When Erik let him in, he was tailed by four guards and a young man I'd never seen; he was dressed in a similar fashion as the Shah, though with slightly less frill and opulence.</p><p>When Erik saw the man, who looked around his age, he bowed. I blinked - he hadn't bowed to the Shah, though that had been for show, to play a character and amuse the Shah with his cockiness. He had bowed to the Khanum - that had been for show as well. So who was this - and was this bow genuine or to play a part?</p><p>Ibrahim stood tall and gestured to us all with his hand, palm up, waving it horizontally across the room. He spoke in Persian. The young man next to him nodded. He had a kind face, I noted. Dark, gentle eyes. Lamblike in manner.</p><p>The Grand Vizier switched to French. "Angel of Death and the Rose," he said, "may I present to you the Prince Izad of Persia."</p><p>I widened my eyes and bowed immediately. Izad must have seen my expression, because he laughed. It was a sweet, boyish sound - not lovely and sensual like Erik's, and not raucous and infectious like Ibrahim's. It was soft. Nice.</p><p>The Prince spoke to the Grand Vizier, who said, "Prince Izad thanks you for your reverence, but asks that you straighten once more."</p><p>"Excuse please," said Izad suddenly, as I stood tall again and looked at him. He smiled kindly. "I learn French. I speak small."</p><p>"He means that he speaks very little." Ibrahim turned to the guards, said something to them, and I watched as they turned and exited the room. "I recommended that he learn the language, and he started a few months ago."</p><p>"Erik. How do?" Izad was looking at Erik. Bare-faced. Unflinchingly. Warmly.</p><p>"Very well, Your Highness, and you? It is good to see you again." And he seemed to mean it. I gathered, then, that he'd likely met the Prince before - and liked him leagues better than his brother.</p><p>"Ah. Good. Yes." Izad then turned to me. "Name?"</p><p>"Christine," I said softly, then added, "Your Highness."</p><p>He repeated, "Christine."</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"Good." He pointed to Erik, still looking at me. "Wife?"</p><p>In a way, I wanted to say, but when Erik and I looked at one another, searching for a correct answer, Ibrahim took the Prince's arm and said something in Persian in his ear. At the touch, both men seemed to soften. As the Grand Vizier spoke, Izad's smile disappeared. He took me in, and a bit of pity entered his gaze. He sighed, and when Ibrahim let go, the Prince nodded to me. It seemed, even, almost a bow of his head.</p><p>"I sorry," he said, "for Garden. Brother not..." He looked for the word. "Not kind. But-" He looked at Erik now. "Happy you love."</p><p>Erik lowered his gaze in respect. "Thank you."</p><p>Izad nodded to him as well, and then smiled at Ibrahim. Whatever tension had existed between them, I decided, must have been worked out. Izad confirmed my suspicions when he said to the Grand Vizier, "And happy you not love in Garden." He laughed awkwardly as Ibrahim looked back at him with affection, and then turned to us. "Ibrahim say he told of us."</p><p>"Yes." Erik nodded. "We will not say anything to anyone. Your secret will die in our graves, Your Highness."</p><p>The Prince furrowed his brow, not understanding fully, and looked to Ibrahim, who explained Erik's meaning.</p><p>"Ah! Good," exclaimed Izad. "Happy." The Prince spotted the piano against the wall. "Erik - you music?"</p><p>Ibrahim pointed to me with his whole hand, fingers tightly packed together. "And the Rose sings!"</p><p>"Oh! I hear?"</p><p>We obliged.</p><p>As I sang for the Prince and Grand Vizier to Erik's piano playing, watching Izad's friendly, kindly youthful face stretch into a grin, I felt a jolting realization.</p><p>I, too, wanted Erik to finish the chamber. I wanted the Shah gone.</p><p>I wanted this man on the throne instead.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0069"><h2>69. The Hunt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>I didn't go inside right away.</p><p>Instead, I stood staring into the canal on the side of the Inn. I was reminded, as I looked into the moon-reflected black waters, of the night I met Vincenzo and Carmelo. Where would I be now, had they chosen a different route, had I decided not to steal from them? Would I have still fallen in love with someone - and would they, too, have broken my heart twice over?</p><p>Closing my eyes with a sigh, I turned on my heels and made my way to the front of the Inn. I went inside and stared at the staircase leading up to the rooms - but I couldn't sleep. And I didn't want to be in that room with only my books.</p><p>No, I wanted music.</p><p>So I went downstairs instead, to the cellar, expecting it to be empty and dark - but finding, instead, that it was well-lit; at the table, staring at me with faces like black stone, were Giovanni and Carmelo.</p><p>I looked at my feet as I continued down the stairs, and then stopped at the bottom step, putting a hand on the railing.</p><p>They knew I'd gone. Perhaps I could lie, though I loathed the idea - I could say I merely went walking-</p><p>"Where did you go?" asked Giovanni softly.</p><p>But now that my chance to fib had come, I found that I couldn't. I found that my mouth refused to cooperate.</p><p>Giovanni continued, words gentle. "Carmelo was awake and saw, from his bedroom window, you leaving the Inn. Where did you go? Be honest."</p><p>My voice was hoarse. "Mario's estate." I gripped the railing a bit tighter.</p><p>Giovanni took a long, slow breath in, but he didn't seem surprised. "Did you go inside?"</p><p>"Yes." My heart beat rapidly. Surely I would be punished for this. He'd never punished me before - but I'd never done anything like this, either.</p><p>"Did anyone see you?" he whispered. Carmelo, beside him, stared at me with wild, unbelieving eyes.</p><p>"No."</p><p>For a moment, they both simply watched me. Then Giovanni closed his eyes and said. "Carmelo. The trap door. Get it ready."</p><p>"Yes, Father."</p><p>I watched with mild confusion as Carmelo removed the chair, moved the rug, and opened the door to the room beneath the cellar. Then, he stood straight and looked at me once again. There was an ounce of pain on his face, blended with a look of amazement and incredulity. "Did you find it?"</p><p>I knew what he was talking about, of course. "Yes."</p><p>Giovanni's eyes went wide. "Did you take it, Erik?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Wise."</p><p>Shouts, then, from outside the Inn. We heard the door to the building pound, and then burst open. Heavy footsteps as Giovanni slowly stood. He swallowed as he looked at me.</p><p>"Clear out!" Mario's voice - the sound crackling and burning with rage. "Everyone, clear out! Men, go upstairs and remove anyone who is not a flea-ridden fox."</p><p>"You were seen," Giovanni whispered.</p><p>My breathing accelerated. "I-"</p><p>"Check the rooms upstairs!" Mario commanded. "The beast probably went to sleep. If you don't find him, interrogate Billisi's men until you do."</p><p>Carmelo moved forward and grabbed my arm. He pulled me toward the trap door. "Get in," he said.</p><p>"But-"</p><p>"Now!"</p><p>I'd never seen Carmelo this serious - this anxious. I didn't question his command. I went inside as he closed the door behind me - I was left in darkness, with only my ears for a clue as to what was happening. I listened as he moved the rug and chair into place.</p><p>Over the next ten or so minutes, all I heard were people - guests, running and yelling as Mario's men forced them out in their pursuit - their pursuit of me. Then, from somewhere far above me, a gunshot. I heard Carmelo gasp, but Giovanni shushed him.</p><p>Five minutes, and then a second shot.</p><p>Anther five minutes, and footsteps sounded down the stairs. I wasn't sure how many men he'd brought, but it sounded enough to fill the cellar.</p><p>"Where is he, Giovanni?" growled Mario.</p><p>"Who?" His voice was, as ever, unnervingly collected.</p><p>"Don't toy with me, bastard." Mario's footsteps. "He broke into my home, went into my bedroom. My housekeeper watched in terror, frozen to the spot, only mustering the courage to wake me when he left. And he took nothing - which leads me to interpret his actions as a warning...and I will not be threatened! I will not be watched while I sleep! Where is he?"</p><p>"Vincenzo?" asked Giovanni. "Salvatore? You haven't yet given me a name. Who?"</p><p>"Oh, I know where those two mongrels are." Mario's voice had taken on an edge. "Dead in their beds, for refusing to tell me where that masked freak is hiding. The African wouldn't even open is damn mouth when asked, and I believe the Gypsy told me to 'Fuck off, you pig-faced asshole'. Lovely last words."</p><p>My blood turned to ice.</p><p>I hadn't heard correctly.</p><p>I couldn't have heard correctly.</p><p>Carmelo spoke softly. "You killed them?" He paused, and his voice - and, likely, more - broke entirely. "You killed them? You've gone over the edge, Cardacci! This is...it's too far. How could you? They did nothing to you, you-"</p><p>"I will not be threatened, boy!" Mario roared. "I will not be made to fear in my own home!"</p><p>"As we fear in ours?" Carmelo continued.</p><p>Giovanni tried to maintain composure, but I could hear a tear in his resolve as well. "Erik left us the moment my daughter died. She was like a sister to him, and he couldn't take the heartbreak. Went back to France."</p><p>"It wasn't him you saw," whispered Carmelo.</p><p>Mario gave a shout of frustration. "Lies! Antonio."</p><p>A gunshot, extremely close by. Deafeningly loud, even where I was hidden.</p><p>Giovanni's normally calm voice turned to a strangled cry. "Carmelo!"</p><p>But Carmelo did not respond.</p><p>No.</p><p>No, this couldn't be real. This was a nightmare, and when I would wake, my head would stop spinning and I would go down to breakfast and see Carmelo's smiling face. I would read with Salvatore and plan thefts with Vincenzo. I'd sit and talk with Giovanni. Perhaps I'd even be able to watch the sunset with Luciana-</p><p>"Now," said Mario lowly, "it's only you and me, Giovanni. Wish to tell me his whereabouts, or care to meet the same fate as your son and two dogs upstairs?"</p><p>"You took my son." I heard Giovanni fall - I imagined to his knees, beside Carmelo. Never mind his bad leg. His voice wavered. "You took him."</p><p>"Just as you took Isabella."</p><p>"Isabella was a tragedy for both of us!" Giovanni sobbed. "And now I have nothing left of blood."</p><p>"Where is he?"</p><p>"There isn't anything else you can threaten me with," he continued with an uneven, shaking tone. "Should I tell you where Erik is, I will lose the last family I have. So what, exactly, is your bargaining chip?"</p><p>"I swear to God, Billisi, if you don't tell me where that fucking boy is, I will not hesitate to kill you. And then find and kill him."</p><p>"Go fuck yourself. I will not betray him."</p><p>"Antonio."</p><p>If you are going to choose to die, die for something bigger than yourself.</p><p>A gunshot sounded once more - and only once more.</p><p>Giovanni was silent.</p><p>My ears rang. I felt nauseous. I couldn't breathe.</p><p>If you are going to choose to die, die for something bigger than yourself.</p><p>"Drop your weapon," said Mario softly. "When the police arrive - which they surely will soon - we tell them we acted in self-defense. Leave weapons in the African's and the Gypsy's rooms as well. They'll believe me. They always do."</p><p>"Yes, Signor."</p><p>I wanted to cry. I had to cry. I had to expel the terrible ache that was building inside me. But I had to stay silent.</p><p>"And comb the city. That boy can't have gotten far. When you find him, end him."</p><p>"Yes, Signor."</p><p>And when they were gone from the basement, I doubled over and expelled everything from my stomach.</p><p>The rest of my family wiped out in minutes.</p><p>Nothing - I had nothing.</p><p>I sobbed, falling to the ground.</p><p>I wanted to die. I wanted to stay here in the dark and die, rotting into the corpse that my visage told the world I was. No one would ever find me again, and I would fade from existence. I would disappear; there was no one left to care about me, no one left for me to care about.</p><p>Carmelo's smile.</p><p>Vincenzo's smirk and wink.</p><p>Salvatore's understanding eyes.</p><p>Luciana's radiant laugh.</p><p>Giovanni's gentle, paternal tone.</p><p>Turned to ash.</p><p>They'd joined Cerberus. Marie. Sasha.</p><p>And all had one thing in common.</p><p>Me.</p><p>I was a harbinger of death. I was cursed. I killed anyone who had the bravery and kindness to look at my evil, damned, disgusting, monstrous face and still made the active choice to love me anyway. I killed anything I cared about that cared in return.</p><p>So I would shut my eyelids and lie here. I would wait for death to claim me too.</p><p>If you are going to choose to die, die for something bigger than yourself.</p><p>I opened my eyes.</p><p>I couldn't. As much as I wanted to, as much as everything in me screamed to let me end everything forever, I couldn't do that.</p><p>My family died to save me, and I couldn't allow myself give up. No, if they knew what I wanted to do, they would look at me in shame.</p><p>They'd want me to keep going.</p><p>They'd want me to march on.</p><p>I'd do it for them. Even as tears streamed down my face, even as my stomach knotted itself so tight I thought it would never loosen, I knew that I had to keep living for them. But I could never love anyone again - and if I did, I had to pray they didn't love me in turn.</p><p>So, like the venomous spider I was, like the ghoul I looked to be, I escaped without a sound.</p><p>Like with Cerberus, I refused to look at Giovanni's body, or Carmelo's. It would destroy me. I waited for the police to arrive, to look at what happened, to speak to the men and Mario. I waited for everyone to at last leave. I made my way to the stairs, ensured that no one was watching, and left.</p><p>And I couldn't look back. I couldn't stop. I had to move.</p><p>Don't think. Don't think. Don't stop. Don't think.</p><p>As though my stay at the Fox Den Inn had been just that - a stay - I continued my journey east. This hadn't been an endgame, it hadn't been a happy ending. It had been a detour, and now I needed to get back on course.</p><p>Don't think, Erik. Don't think.</p><p>Just go.</p>
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<a name="section0070"><h2>70. The Burn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>Four months, now, since the letter had been sent to my father.</p><p>I couldn't sleep at the thought, even as Erik slept soundly beside me, arms encircling my body. I merely stared at the curtained window, looking at the sliver of moonlight that bled through.</p><p>If he was alive, then what had he been doing all these months? Was he lonely? Continuing on as best he could? Had he written back? Had he received the letter at all? And what if he hadn't? Did he think me dead?</p><p>Or was he dead?</p><p>I closed my eyes, forcing myself to breathe evenly. I gripped Erik's arm a bit tighter where it wrapped around my waist.</p><p>A knock.</p><p>I looked to the study door. No, it was too far away to have come from there. But of course it hadn't. We were the only two here. Unless, of course, someone had taken Echo Hall-</p><p>A knock again as a bit of panic, as memory of Rahim, took me.</p><p>It came from, I realized then, from the door to the palace halls beyond. But it was the middle of the night. Who was trying to visit at this hour?</p><p>I shook Erik's arm. He stirred.</p><p>"Erik?" I said softly.</p><p>I felt him move behind me. "Yes?"</p><p>"Someone's here."</p><p>He bolted to a sitting position. "What?"</p><p>"Someone knocked, I mean."</p><p>Erik rose from the bed, turned on the light, and picked up his clothes from where they were folded on the dresser. He put them on.</p><p>A third knock, but this time it was coming from inside Erik's chambers.</p><p>He stood in horror, staring in the parlor's direction. Then:</p><p>"Erik? Are you here?"</p><p>Ibrahim.</p><p>Erik relaxed. He wiped a hand over his face and looked at me. "Get dressed, my darling. It appears we have a guest."</p><p>I rose from the bed and did as I was told. Once I'd put on a nightgown, Erik unlocked the study door.</p><p>"Erik!" I heard Ibrahim call from the parlor. Seconds later, he appeared in the study. "I need to speak with you."</p><p>"Do you wish for tea, as well, while we chat?" Erik asked, folding his arms. "I just know the servants will appreciate being woken at two in the morning. Almost as much as I do."</p><p>"I do not believe you have room to talk," said Ibrahim with a raise of his brows. "Nadir told me how you broke into his house to visit the Rose. At least I used a key, yes?"</p><p>"Yes, and now she and I visit every night." He glanced at me, and I surprised myself by my lack of embarrassment - there was little doubt that Ibrahim knew, or at least suspected, what we did when the sun went down. He looked back at him. "So what are you implying, Vizier? Care for a kiss?"</p><p>"As handsome as you are, I am taken by another." Ibrahim glanced at me, and I noticed that there was a note of tension in his normally free demeanor. "I am here for a reason. Please consider putting your sarcasm away momentarily to listen."</p><p>"Ah, but consider this as well: Christine finds my snark charming."</p><p>Ibrahim didn't smile. And I didn't either - especially not when I saw him look at Erik with regret and go into his pocket. He paused, swallowed, and pulled out a slip of paper.</p><p>Erik took a step back. "No."</p><p>"Erik-"</p><p>"No." He raised a hand, palm facing Ibrahim, as if shielding himself from the Grand Vizier. "No, the Shah said that the Khanum's ladies were the last."</p><p>Ibrahim held out the paper out for him regardless. "I asked him to rethink his decision."</p><p>Erik's eyes closed. He lowered his hand. I wanted to go to him, to hold him, but I knew that it wasn't the time. That this was too dire of a subject to be interrupted, no matter how little I could see that Erik cared for it.</p><p>"I asked him," continued Ibrahim in the most sober tone I'd ever heard him use, "to allow you to focus on your chamber, that she could be executed by different hands. But his wrath is unchangeable. He sent me here now to order you to plan her death for tomorrow."</p><p>Erik's eyelids slowly opened. "She?" he repeated. "Her?"</p><p>Ibrahim went a bit green. He held the paper out further for Erik to take.</p><p>"Who is it?"</p><p>"Read it and-"</p><p>"No." Erik's expression was hard. "I don't want to read it. I want to hear you say it - to say the name of whatever woman you couldn't prevent the Shah from killing."</p><p>I looked at him in shock. It wasn't the Grand Vizier's fault. Ibrahim's face appeared as though the words physically pained him. "I tried."</p><p>"Who is it?"</p><p>A silence, and then he at last put the paper away, quickly, unceremoniously. He pocketed it like it was laced with thorns and touching it further would make him bleed. "The Lotus."</p><p>Erik's breath grew shallow as mine grew deep with recognition of the name. "No," he hissed.</p><p>"She refused tonight to bed the Shah."</p><p>He snarled. "I won't."</p><p>"Erik-"</p><p>"I refuse!" Erik's voice was uncharacteristically hideous. He took another step back. "I will not." He grimaced, expression matching his tone to perfection. "I will not kill a woman taken from her country, stripped of the family and life she knew. I will not end her life for refusing to be abused by a sadist. I. Will. Not."</p><p>Ibrahim's dark brown eyes held all of the sadness I currently felt. "You will be punished if you refuse."</p><p>"Then he can punish me. But what if it were Christine, Vizier?" Both men whipped their gazes to me. I looked away at the thought, horrified by it. "What if the Shah decided to never have gifted her to me, and she too dared to say no? I cannot do this."</p><p>"If you do not," said Ibrahim gently, slowly, seeming to pluck out his words carefully, "she will be punished as well. I do not say this to manipulate - Allah knows I do not wish for you to do this. But I know the Shah. I know how he thinks. It is my duty to know. And I promise he will go to her first as retribution - punish this Flower since you wouldn't punish that one."</p><p>For a moment, Erik continued staring at him with grief-stricken anger. Then his face slackened. His eyes glazed, suddenly emotionless. He turned and went to his desk. Ibrahim and I both watched as he sat.</p><p>"Erik?" I whispered, and took a step forward.</p><p>"I don't want to do this anymore," he said lowly.</p><p>Ibrahim was at my side. He spoke as well. "Erik, I-"</p><p>"This chamber," Erik continued, and opened up a drawer. He pulled out stacks of paper with thousands of drawings and writings. "These plans. These deaths. It doesn't stop, does it? It keeps coming, unrelenting."</p><p>"I know, my friend, but-"</p><p>"I don't want to do it anymore!" Erik roared. He stood and whirled, eyes on fire, a world burning in his irises. "I'm done! I want to stop. I want to stop! But I can't, can I? I must keep moving. Always, I must ignore my own pain, and keep moving. As though I am not human. But I am human, Ibrahim, and there is only so much I can take! When will it end? When can I stop? When am I finally allowed peace - peace that lasts more than the blink of an eye? Peace that doesn't end in disaster? When? Tell me!"</p><p>Ibrahim pursed his lips, eyes wetting. He looked down in shame toward the hand that had brought the slip of paper out.</p><p>As though exhausted, Erik gripped the desk behind him. He continued, "I'm done. I want to be done. I want to stop. Please. I beg you. I want to stop."</p><p>But Erik told me he didn't believe in God. And neither Ibrahim nor I could control the pain he currently felt, the orders he was forced to follow. So I could see, in his face, that his pleas were being sent into the nether; that they were evaporated into mist the moment they left his mouth.</p><p>His face twisted. A tear crawled down his cheek.</p><p>Twenty. He was twenty. And already he had the entire world on his shoulders.</p><p>He slid down the desk until he was sitting. And he cried, quietly. He slumped forward, weighed down by that world that showed, repeatedly, that it did not care how heavy it became. There was always more. More, more, more.</p><p>My heart broke with his soul. I went to him, on my knees, and put my arms around him. I felt his hands at my back as he embraced me in return.</p><p>Ibrahim was beside him as well. "I understand, Erik. I understand that you are in pain. And if there anything I can do to ease your suffering, I will do it, without a single question. How can I help?"</p><p>"Just go," whispered Erik. "Please go. I want to be alone with Christine. It is only when I am with her that I feel a semblance of relief. I appreciate your willingness to be of assistance, Ibrahim...but go."</p><p>The Grand Vizier was quiet for a moment. Then he sighed, apologized for the meaning behind his visit, and left us alone.</p><p>Erik gripped me. He held onto me like his sanity depended on it.</p><p>I think perhaps it did.</p><p>So I coaxed him up. Brought him to bed. I propped myself up on pillows and put his head on my chest. As we lay there, I sang to him.</p><p>When he started to cry once more, I stroked his hair. Reassuring him that I was here. That I was his and he was mine. And nothing would ever take me away from him.</p><p>Not for a single moment.</p>
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<a name="section0071"><h2>71. The Magician</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>I moved at night.</p><p>No home. No family. I belonged everywhere and nowhere at once. I resumed my life the way it had been before I ever spotted Vincenzo and Carmelo passing by with that bag of money.</p><p>But now I had skills.</p><p>Now I was a better thief.</p><p>As I moved through Venice and into Austria, I no longer stole from grocers. I went, instead, into their shops and purchased with very legal tender - though the means by which I'd obtained such tender was certainly not legal.</p><p>Once in Austria, I realized that I'd never actually had a plan. No, in fact, I realized that my entire purpose had been to escape - but there was no real destination. But, I decided as well, I didn't want a destination. Destinations had only brought me heartache. I wanted, instead, to keep moving.</p><p>If I kept moving, I wouldn't have the time or energy to stop and think about what I'd lost. Idleness would only allow heartache to bloom - and I couldn't allow myself that. It would be far too painful, and I'd made a silent promise to Giovanni that I would keep living. I had to keep living. No matter what, I had to.</p><p>And if I was going to die, it had to be for something larger than my feelings. Larger than me.</p><p>If I was to make the choice to die, my death would need to make an impact. Save a life. Change the world. Only then would I feel satisfied with ending my life. Only then would I feel I'd honored Giovanni and the rest of my family. And only then would I finally feel I could rest.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>It was in Vienna, a little after sundown, that I was playing with a coin I'd recently stolen. I was thinking, deeply - I wanted to stay in a tavern, I wanted a bed again after so many weeks, but I'd have to double my efforts to obtain money.</p><p>As I mulled over how, exactly, to steal so much in so little a time, I moved the coin between my fingers, making it appear and disappear in and out of thin air. I hadn't noticed at first, but a couple of boys a bit older than me, a few meters away, had begun to watch.</p><p>I noticed their intrigue - both at my trick and at my mask - and so an idea formed.</p><p>I turned to them, took the coin, closed it in my fist, and when I opened my hand I had two coins in them.</p><p>They smiled, glanced at one another, and came a bit closer.</p><p>I couldn't understand their language when they spoke to me, but the message was clear: they wanted to see more. And when they opened their purses to show how they'd reward me to show them what I could do, I smiled too.</p><p>I think, perhaps, I'd stumbled upon a career.</p><p>I wondered if Giovanni would approve-</p><p>But I pushed that thought quickly from my mind. I couldn't think of them now. I had to stay focused.</p><p>I had to survive.</p>
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<a name="section0072"><h2>72. The Decision</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>Erik had an extremely difficult time letting go of our embrace as we stood in Nadir's parlor. He was leaving me here with the Daroga, as Ibrahim was to attend the execution of The Lotus, to watch along with the Shah.</p><p>"I love you," I whispered as he held me tightly. Nadir was in his study, letting us have our privacy.</p><p>"I don't want to do it," he said softly.</p><p>"I know."</p><p>After a time, Erik unwrapped his arms from around me. He put both hands on either side of my face; even with his mask, I could see his misery. His eyes told of how desperately he wanted to just stay with me. Slowly, he brought his lips down to my forehead, pressing them there for a while, and finally let me go. With one last regretful look, he left the house to meet Ibrahim and the guards on his walk back to the palace.</p><p>Stomach sinking at his absence, I took a seat on one of Nadir's plush couches and merely stared down at my hands.</p><p>After about ten minutes, Reza appeared with Parvana. I greeted them both. She bowed her head to me and took a seat across from us as Reza caned his way over to me. He placed a hand on the couch's seat.</p><p>"Can I sit?"</p><p>I smiled at him, though he couldn't see it. "Of course."</p><p>He put his cane down and found his place next to me.</p><p>"Christine?"</p><p>"Yes, Reza?"</p><p>"Father said that Erik wrote to your father." His legs started swinging; he had his head down, as though in thought. "And he said that he sent the letter to him."</p><p>"Yes." I stared at him. "Did...is there any response? Do you know?"</p><p>"Oh, I don't know." Reza shrugged; he inclined his head a bit toward me. "But does that mean you will go soon?"</p><p>I paused, then looked down. "I don't know, Reza. I think it depends on...on if my father is alive or not."</p><p>"What if he is not alive?"</p><p>My heart contracted. "Then I might have to stay here for longer."</p><p>He considered this. "I don't want your father to be dead, but...I don't want you to go. Will Erik go, too?"</p><p>"I don't know, Reza. It - it all depends, all right?"</p><p>I didn't mean to sound impatient - actually, I wasn't - but my uncertainty and anxiety about the situation was making my tone a bit sharper than I meant it to be.</p><p>"Sorry," he said softly. His legs stopped swinging.</p><p>I sighed. "It's all right. It's not a problem."</p><p>He nodded, then seemed to brighten. "Father bought a set of books; he's been reading them to me. He never used to do that. I really like it."</p><p>"Oh?" I looked toward the direction of the study. I remembered Ibrahim's words - that Nadir would sell his own son if it meant avenging his wife. "That's very nice, Reza."</p><p>"Yes." He paused. "Can you read?"</p><p>"I can."</p><p>"Father bought some books in French. Can you read one to me?"</p><p>I smiled; that, actually, sounded quite nice. "Yes, of course."</p><p>He hopped down from the couch and spoke to his nanny. She nodded, stood, and walked with him from the room. Five minutes later, he arrived with a book.</p><p>"The Count of Monte Cristo," I read when the novel was in my hand. I'd heard of this story; though I was unsure it was entirely suitable for children. "It's an adventure story."</p><p>"It's very fun!" He sat next to me again.</p><p>"Yes - does your father approve of me reading this to you?"</p><p>"I got it from the study - he gave it to me for you to read."</p><p>I nodded. If Nadir was fine with it, then- "Where did you leave off?" I opened the pages.</p><p>"The beginning of chapter two."</p><p>"All right." I read aloud. "Chapter two. Father and son..."</p><p>I read to him for an hour or so - I myself was getting wrapped up in the story. He'd laid his head on my arm halfway through - but at the end of the hour, he'd fallen asleep. It was, after all, dark outside, and I couldn't imagine that a boy of six stayed up very late.</p><p>I stopped reading and looked at Parvana, who was smiling lovingly at Reza. She nodded to me, went to him, and picked him up along with his cane. She said something to me, and I assumed it was goodnight. I waved to her before she turned and walked him out.</p><p>When they'd gone, I dived back into the story, genuinely intrigued as to what might happen next. I was stirred from my small escape when a knock sounded at the open parlor door. I looked up to see Nadir standing in the doorway. Quickly, I closed the book and stood.</p><p>"No need to stand, Christine," he said softly. His face was calm. "I am, actually, coming in here to speak with you." True to his word, he went to where Parvana had just been and sat. He gestured with an open-faced palm for m to sit as well. I obliged.</p><p>"Thank you," he said, "for reading to Reza."</p><p>"Of course."</p><p>"He cares for you."</p><p>I smiled softly. "Thank you."</p><p>"And Erik."</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"More than he cares for me, I think."</p><p>I looked down. I had no idea about that - but even if I did, it was certainly not my place to say.</p><p>"Christine."</p><p>I brought my eyes to his again. "Yes?"</p><p>"I am genuinely sorry for my behavior as of late."</p><p>My face reddened a bit. This conversation made my stomach flip; little doubt as to why. "It's all right-"</p><p>"No," he said, "it's not." He cupped his hands together in his lap, watching me through his spectacles. "I am still concerned about your relationship with him-"</p><p>"He said he would finish the-" I whispered, but he stopped me.</p><p>"Please, Christine, do not interrupt. Allow me to finish."</p><p>I nodded, cheeks growing hotter.</p><p>"I understand," he continued, "that Erik will complete the chamber. I've seen his progress, and it truly does appear that his relationship with you is not hindering his ability to finish the...project." He inhaled. "I believe him when he says he will complete it. But now that I am no longer worried about that...well, there is something else that concerns me. Something that, I fear, may not be in your best emotional interests."</p><p>I stared at him, uncomfortable prickling at the back of my neck. Those words sounded very much like a repeat of... "Erik-" I swallowed. "Erik told me that he has a secret that might hurt me - that he can't reveal right away."</p><p>He paused, then nodded very slightly.</p><p>"Nadir."</p><p>"Christine."</p><p>"Is there something..." I said, barely above a breath, "something about Erik that I should know?"</p><p>He watched me for a while as I felt my heart hammer. Was this too far? A breach of his privacy? Or was it something that I had a right to know?</p><p>"The secret," he finally responded, "is not about entirely about Erik. It is more about the chamber he is designing - though Erik plays a role."</p><p>"Of course he does - he is designing it."</p><p>He pursed his lips. "There is more I wish to tell you, but Erik gave good reason as to why I shouldn't. So I won't." He looked down. "One thing I do want to say, however, is that I have...given it thought, and I already had a chance at love. At a - a full life, no matter how fleeting it was. I do, however you may doubt it, wish Erik well. I wish you well too. I would be willing to-"</p><p>A pounding at the door to Nadir's house. Nadir's normally serene face held an uncharacteristic alarm. He glanced at me. "Excuse me for a moment. I seem to have a very rude visitor. If it is Erik, finished with his execution, he needn't be so violent with my front door."</p><p>Nadir left the parlor for his foyer. I heard a bit of Persian conversation, which started soft but began to grow louder and more urgent. I looked at the doorway, waiting and watching, until the sound of heavy footsteps - several pairs - met my ears.</p><p>First came Nadir, wide-eyed but moving to the side of the room.</p><p>Then came Ibrahim. His expression, too, was uncharacteristic - domineering, serious, full of power. For the first time, he actually looked like a Grand Vizier.</p><p>I didn't like it.</p><p>I especially didn't like the four guards who followed and stood a meter behind him.</p><p>He raised his chin as his eyes rested on me. He spoke with tonal conviction in Persian. The guards behind him nodded.</p><p>Then he spoke in French.</p><p>"Rose, slave to the Angel of Death." His voice sent a chill down my spine, but when he winked quickly at me, I asked my heart to slow - Ibrahim was acting. Only acting. "Your master has chosen to insult the Shah, and will be punished until he has proven his loyalty once more. When that time comes, your services will be returned to him - but for now, your services will be transferred to me."</p><p>What?</p><p>What did he...I didn't think I heard right.</p><p>I wanted to ask him to repeat himself, but my rapid heartbeat took all the energy from the rest of my body and I felt weak.</p><p>Erik would be punished, he said. Had he said that? Had he-</p><p>The guards moved forward to lift me harshly from my seat. All of their backs were now turned to Nadir and Ibrahim. The Daroga, I saw, was stricken, staring at Ibrahim.</p><p>The Grand Vizier merely looked at me, face once more soft.</p><p>He mouthed the words 'Don't worry', sympathy stitched in every line of his face.</p><p>But all I could see or hear were the words he'd said before: will be punished.</p><p>Punished.</p><p>After everything Erik had already been through, I thought, as the guards moved me through the house, Ibrahim in the lead. After everything he'd been through, the world decided to pile on more.</p><p>Always more.</p><p>And not even I could keep my promises. I'd told him I'd never let myself part from him for a moment.</p><p>But the world had other ideas.</p>
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<a name="section0073"><h2>73. The Performer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>My journey from Vienna to Moscow was a blur of cheap tavern beds and magic tricks. I went for the lowest-tier places, the establishments in slums, because no reputable business wanted a tall, thin young man in a mask. So I never stayed in one place for long. When I wasn't performing magic, I was purchasing books, reading them, and promptly leaving them behind (when I was unsuccessful selling them). I was playing music in my head, imagining there were keys beneath my fingers. Or I was walking through cities, not wanting to sit still and do nothing for long. I brought a lasso with me, hidden in my coats on a cold day, or brought a knife in my pocket on hot days, never forgetting Giovanni's lessons in self-defense should I find I need them</p><p>The silent moments were when images and voices emerged. Lost souls that I'd never see again.</p><p>So I never allowed myself silence. Never allowed myself rest. Even when I slept, I didn't dare put my head on the pillow until my mind couldn't stay awake any longer.</p><p>I was seventeen, performing in the streets at dusk, several streets from the Kremlin - just so far away that its star-shaped tip was visible - when the requests began.</p><p>People asking to see my face at the end of my performances had not been anything new. Every night, at least once, a person would ask for me to remove my mask after a magic performance. I knew that was what they were asking - they would speak, I would say I spoke French, and they would point to their own face, pantomime removing a mask. But I always ignored it. I walked away.</p><p>But this time, it was most of my onlookers. They demanded it. They were insistent.</p><p>I'd stayed in Moscow too long, I realized. Several weeks, much longer than I normally remained in one place. And now people were spreading word - talking amongst themselves: what lay behind the mask of the mysterious street magician?</p><p>And in that moment, I just - I didn't care. I was so far past caring. I'd already endured years of mockery and terror at my appearance - then a reprieve of peace and love. Now it was only fitting that I should return to my life before.</p><p>What could result from my showing my face, really? What could the outcome be?</p><p>At worst - the sound of screams. So gut-wrenching. So insulting. So what?</p><p>At best - an even larger salary when those with a fetish for the macabre paid handsomely for the sight of my face.</p><p>So I obliged them.</p><p>The best and worst at once.</p><p>Screams, yes, but even more money in my canvas bag.</p><p>At least this time, I was in control of my earnings. Of when and where I showed my face. And in that way, I felt power. The pain of what Javert forced me to do couldn't hurt me if I took ownership of it.</p><p>So as the crowd deepened, Moscow's interest piqued. Day by day, I added on what I'd learned to do so many years ago. All of the knowledge I'd learned combined into one performance.</p><p>Once the magic ended, and they demanded my face, I showed them. I sang a song - a deeply sad, horribly dark song, about a corpse in a grave who falls in love with a bouquet placed at his tombstone; but of course he can never touch her, for the cruel earth, nature itself, separates them.</p><p>I didn't dance. I didn't sing frightening songs - my visage was horrifying enough. No, instead, I wanted them to feel what I felt.</p><p>Loss.</p><p>Heartbreak.</p><p>Emptiness.</p><p>And they did. Every night, they did.</p><p>And they always came back for more.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>At a certain point, I realized, I was not leaving Russia. The tavernkeeper was advertising that the Masked Magician was living there- I was paying half the rate just so I would stay. And I was making more money than I ever had.</p><p>But I was not comfortable. I never would be, not ever again. Nothing felt right or whole. I was simply existing for the sake of existing. No real meaning to life other than to merely stay alive.</p><p>I nearly fell asleep thinking these thoughts when thunder began overhead.</p><p>And I didn't know what it was about it, but the sound brought the image of Sasha, hanging from the tree, straight to the space behind my eyes.</p><p>I sat up, electrified, breathing deeply.</p><p>That night had been one of the worst in my life, and though I'd certainly been uncomfortable with the sound of thunder after that point, I hadn't feared it. I hadn't reacted to it like this.</p><p>But now, I think, the loneliness - the hopelessness and pointlessness - brought those memories back in full force. And though I'd done such an excellent job all my life of pushing those thoughts away, I found that now they wouldn't release me.</p><p>Lightning flashed, illuminating the room momentarily through the opaque curtains.</p><p>I closed my eyes, anticipating the roar, wincing when it came.</p><p>I was here because my family was dead. I was alone in Moscow, scared of a little thunder in the middle of the night, because my family was dead.</p><p>My family was dead because I tried to steal the necklace.</p><p>I tried to steal the necklace because I fell in love with Luciana.</p><p>I fell in love with Luciana because I decided to stay with Giovanni. Because I was offered a home. Because I tried to steal from Carmelo and Vincenzo. Because I ran away from France. Because I killed Javert. Because Javert killed Cerberus and showed cruelty to me for years. Because I was sold to him to be an attraction piece. Because Marie died. Because Sasha died.</p><p>Because I let Sasha outside.</p><p>Because I gave her a bit of cheese.</p><p>That was why I was here.</p><p>All of it - every moment of pain - could have been avoided had I eaten that cheese rather than given it to my dog.</p><p>Thunder continued to rumble outside.</p><p>I closed my eyes and imagined myself folding, piece by piece, into myself. Folded one time. Two times. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.</p><p>Seven.</p><p>The common knowledge was that a piece of paper could be folded seven times before it could no longer bend. Before it simply wouldn't budge, and it was either stagnant or had to be unfolded.</p><p>How many times had I been forced to fold? Surely more than seven. How many more times could I continue to double over until I could no longer move? Until the only solutions were for me to stand still or unfold altogether?</p><p>How much more could I bend until I at last snapped completely in half?</p>
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<a name="section0074"><h2>74. The Transfer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>I didn't remember the walk to the palace.</p><p>All my mind could process was the fact that Erik was in danger. And I had little knowledge of when or if I would see him again. I had no idea of whether he was all right or hurting, where he was, and why.</p><p>The guards left us alone once we were in Ibrahim's chambers. The rooms were similar to Erik's - but he had tapestries on the walls. His furniture held hues of earthy colors - greens and browns rather than reds and golds.</p><p>The moment we were alone, Ibrahim's hard expression turned to the gentle one I was familiar with. "Your clothes and other belongings have already been transferred to your living space here - as has Ayesha." He nodded to a closed door. The layout of the room was similar to Erik's. "The bed in Erik's study has been moved to my own study; I told the Shah the same thing Erik did - that I want my bed to myself and a separate bed for...well-" He appeared uncomfortable. "Obviously we will not be doing what the entirety of the palace thinks we are-"</p><p>"Ibrahim," I breathed, feeling faint, "what is going on? What happened to Erik?"</p><p>He frowned, eyelids lowering ever so slightly. "He refused to kill the Lotus."</p><p>I stared at him. My stomach clenched. "What does that mean for him?"</p><p>"It means he has been imprisoned below the palace for the time being." He looked down, putting his hands behind his back. "Initially, the Shah's response to his refusal to kill her was to imprison him for a week and take your life." His eyes met mine again. "But I convinced him otherwise. I told him that what would truly wound the Angel of Death was to transfer you to me for the duration of his punishment - that having to share his belongings would be more offensive than having those belongings destroyed. It was while I suggested this that the Shah came up with the idea of keeping Erik locked up for even longer - that he would use his time behind bars working on the Chamber, and only once the plans were complete could he be released. Finishing the chamber would prove his loyalty; his belongings, respect, and status would be returned to him, and the Shah would forgive this act of defiance." He paused. "I also had to convince him that Erik's reason for not killing the Lotus had little to do with you - that he had simply grown arrogant and did not feel like doing it."</p><p>A lump had formed in my throat. My eyes pricked. "Why didn't he kill her?" I asked, immediately feeling terrible, selfish, for the thought. "I - I don't want her to die, obviously I don't, but - He had to have known that refusing would result in...in something. Something like this." My voice grew wobbly - picturing Erik in the dark, alone, in a cage - forced to work on that damned chamber day and night until it was done...it was too much. "I know he didn't want to, but why didn't he just..."</p><p>"He whispered in my ear as he was taken away," Ibrahim said softly, "that when the time came to take her life, he could not stop picturing that it was you before him - and he couldn't bring himself to do it." He pursed his lips. "Unfortunately, the Lotus will be killed regardless, by other hands."</p><p>Hot tears slid down my cheeks. I tried to take a breath in, but it turned into a gasp, a cry, and the moment I brought my shaking hands to my eyes to wipe the salt water away, I felt Ibrahim's arms around me. He held me as I let myself sob into his black clothes. He smelled like lemons - somehow it was comforting. But I wished the person holding me smelled like pine.</p><p>"I understand your pain," he said. "I am angry as well. The only thing I can say to comfort is that his love for you is clear, and you need not ever doubt it."</p><p>I only cried harder - so hard it was starting to hurt my chest.</p><p>"The only people watching were the Shah, Prince Izad, and myself. When I saw the doubt on Erik's face, when I saw him turn his face from the Lotus to me, I knew his decision the moment he made it. He didn't say anything. He merely looked at the Shah and shook his head, placing his hands at his side. He was taken away - as he was taken, he used his voice trick on me, to tell me why. As he was walked out, I could see the grief on his face - he believes, I think, that you are being put to death for this. He then spoke again in my ear - 'try to save her'."</p><p>I gripped Ibrahim a bit tighter, not wanting to be let go. He didn't seem to have the intention of doing so.</p><p>Erik. Hurting. Alone. And the Lotus - that girl. She'd dared to stand up for her own autonomy, and I...I didn't even know her name. No one knew her name. Her name had been changed, like the property she'd been turned into. And now, even though Erik had decided to spare her from his hands, she was to die anyway. So pointless - to have her life stolen like that.</p><p>And I didn't even know her name.</p><p>"I did the best I could, Christine. I did the best to find the most beneficial outcome. I could not stop the Shah from imprisoning him. I could not stop him from killing her. I am sorry. Just know that while you are here, no harm shall come to you."</p><p>Christine, he called me. Not Rose.</p><p>Christine.</p><p>"It's not your fault," I whispered. "Thank you, Ibrahim."</p><p>A pause, during which he simply hugged me, gently rubbing his thumb over my shoulder blade. It wasn't intimate, it wasn't romantic - it was simply comforting. Comforting in the way an embrace from a friend or parent might be. Reassuring and kind.</p><p>"The Prince," he continued, "finds your story quite romantic."</p><p>I opened my eyes at last, looking at the floor as my cheek rested against his chest.</p><p>"A man seen as the incarnation of death," Ibrahim mused, "feared by many and believed to be powerful beyond measure, has fallen in love with the girl gifted to him in chains - and will do anything to protect and honor her."</p><p>"It's not romantic," I said, voice crackly. I cleared my throat. "This pain is not romantic. And he's not as powerful as people think. He's a slave like me."</p><p>"Yes. I know."</p><p>Another long silence.</p><p>"Is there anything I can do to help you feel better?" he asked.</p><p>"The only thing, I think, that would even remotely alter my mood is hashish."</p><p>I could feel him processing this. "That could, actually, be arranged."</p><p>"No," I said immediately, "no, I don't mean it. I don't want it." And I didn't. I hadn't, actually, for a while now.</p><p>"Are you sure?" he asked. "I could drink myself into a stupor - you could smoke your mind away. And we could sit on the floor and cry again. That sounds like a fun time, yes?"</p><p>I actually giggled. "That was a mess. Erik was beyond peeved."</p><p>"I think back on it fondly. Peeving Erik is almost as enjoyable as peeving the Daroga."</p><p>I giggled again. I at last pulled away, and wiped the remaining tears from my eyes. "Ayesha is really here?"</p><p>"She is. Smuggled in - I paid a servant well to not mention it to the Shah. Though, I don't think he will care too much one way or another. She's just a cat. But I know she means much to Erik. The Shah doesn't have to be aware of that fact."</p><p>An insistent knock on Ibrahim's door, then. Ibrahim nodded to me, brown eyes and bearded face kind, as he left me to answer it.</p><p>"Should I hide?" I asked.</p><p>"Why?" he responded. "Everyone knows you're here."</p><p>True.</p><p>I was simply on edge.</p><p>Ibrahim opened it to find a very frazzled Nadir. The Daroga strode in, looking between us. Ibrahim closed the door once more.</p><p>"Christine is all right," he said to Nadir. "She will be safe."</p><p>"And Erik?" asked Nadir. His hands worked at his side. "How is he?"</p><p>"He will survive," said Ibrahim lowly. "The Shah wants his Chamber finished, after all."</p><p>Nadir sighed, relief in the sound. "So he will be working on it while imprisoned?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>Nadir nodded. "Good."</p><p>An acrid taste entered my mouth. "Is that all you care about?"</p><p>Both men looked at me, stunned. I'd never spoken this way to Nadir before.</p><p>"I'm sorry?" asked the Daroga.</p><p>"I didn't stutter." My heart was beating hard. My nerve, it seemed, was running away from me, but there was a bitter satisfaction to it. "You heard me perfectly well, Monsieur Khan."</p><p>Nadir narrowed his eyes at me, then glanced at Ibrahim, who was watching me with impressed interest. "No, Christine, it's not all I care about. I do hope Erik is all right."</p><p>"Then we should kill the Shah." I could quite literally feel my heart in my throat, my wrists, my face. I was a walking pulse, fiery blood coursing through me. "We should do it as soon as we can. Get me, or you, or Ibrahim alone with him, and put a blade into his back. Who will accuse us? You're the chief of police - and Ibrahim is his right hand man. Even the Prince is on our side. So who, really, will enforce a punishment?"</p><p>"Even if it was that simple," he responded coldly, "which it is not, the answer is still no. I will watch the Shah die in pain or it will not happen at all." Disgust on his face, he turned back to Ibrahim. "Thank you for letting me know-"</p><p>"You're a hypocrite."</p><p>The words were out of my mouth before I could think them through.</p><p>Nadir whirled. "Excuse me?"</p><p>"Is your hearing all right today?" I spat. Angry. I was so angry.</p><p>Ibrahim hummed a quick noise of surprise, staring at me with shock, as Nadir gaped.</p><p>"You say you care for Erik's wellbeing," I continued hotly, "and for my wellbeing, but you refuse to give up your need for vengeance."</p><p>Nadir's eyes were rounded, poison-green, staring back at me.</p><p>"What would you do to Erik if he killed the Shah without the Chamber, Nadir? Would you end his life?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>I froze.</p><p>No hesitation in his answer. Even Ibrahim looked stricken.</p><p>"I knew you would punish him somehow," said Ibrahim, "but Allah above, Daroga-"</p><p>"I would," he continued, not looking at the Grand Vizier - he was entirely focused on me. "For taking away my life's purpose, I would end his existence on this Earth. And I am not naïve, either. If he had a sudden change of mind, truly decided to give the Shah a quick death, I would assume at this point that it was at least partially at your request, Christine, so I would have to kill you too - 'if', of course, being the key word here. I know you are both sharper than that, so I have zero intention of harming you now."</p><p>"How can you be so selfish?" I had no idea what Ibrahim's expression was; I was entirely focused on the Daroga. "You only care about us as far as we can serve your need for revenge. What - what will you do when you finally enact that revenge. What will you live for then, if this really is your life's purpose?"</p><p>"I will have plenty to live for - my son, for example - but I can only have peace once that Shah has been properly dealt with, and I-"</p><p>"Torturing the man who killed your wife will not bring her back, Daroga."</p><p>The room's temperature turned icy. Nadir's gaze, his face, his body did as well. He stepped toward me. Ibrahim, in the corner of my eye, bristled. He seemed ready to step in should this become more hostile than it was.</p><p>"I can be kind, Christine," he said in a low tone that sent shivers up my spine. "But I can also make the Shah look as gentle as a lamb. I am the chief of police of Persia. I have seen more death than Erik could ever dream of. Yes, dear girl, I have called myself a friend to you, to Erik. But make no mistake - my friendship is conditional. Should either of you betray me and my goals, you will turn into enemies faster than you could spot the assassin sent to drive a knife into your back."</p><p>"All right, now." Ibrahim went to my side. "I think that is enough, and we should-"</p><p>My breathing picked up, and I ignored the Grand Vizier. "You acted so surprised when Erik thought you might kill me-"</p><p>"Because you are not my enemies," said Nadir, tilting his nose up, looking down at me through his spectacles. "Erik knows I do not mean you harm. I do not wish to hurt you - I do, in fact, wish to help. His distrust of me while the two of you are my allies was disheartening, to say the least. So long as you remain my friends, I wish you and Erik well. I wish you both happiness and, recently, I wish that you share a beautiful love. By Allah, so long as you remain helpful to my goal, I would put myself in harm's way for the two of you. But the moment you do anything to thwart my aims, that will turn to dust in my mind. Be lucky that Erik seems to understand that - and fully plans to complete the chamber."</p><p>"Really, this is a discussion for another time-"</p><p>I interrupted Ibrahim again, who seemed to at last give up. "I thought maybe you had grown as a person," I whispered. "But now I see-"</p><p>"Watch yourself, Christine." He bent slightly to meet my level, arms behind him, and I stepped back instinctually. "You've seen how I treat those I deem foes. Think of the Echo Rahim. Think of the damn Shah. Consider fully whether I serve you better as a friend or enemy. You're an intelligent girl - I think you have the analytical skills to think it through. So, Christine, tell me - are we on the same side or are we not?"</p><p>My teeth clenched. "We are."</p><p>"Wonderful." He stood up again. He turned to leave. "Please let me know if there is anything I can do to aid you in this time of need. Good evening."</p><p>But before he could touch the doorknob, I whispered, "You are an evil person."</p><p>He turned to a statue for a moment, then slowly spun. There was true rage in his expression, but his voice was soft. "You want to know the secret, Christine? The one Erik doesn't want to tell you?"</p><p>I breathed hard, not daring to move.</p><p>"The secret is that, as per request by the Shah, the Chamber requires two people, not one, inside of it to operate. Should one hang himself, the other is set free. Should neither take their own life, both will roast. Think of it as a sort of sick game - a competition of wills. Something fun to watch - to bet on. There. Now you know."</p><p>My brows stitched; it was gruesome, yes, but- "He said it would hurt me. Why would that hurt me?"</p><p>"Because your young man has decided that if anyone is going to suffer along with the Shah, it should be the creator of the chamber itself."</p><p>My breath caught.</p><p>No.</p><p>"Quite the hero," he added, "but of course he couldn't tell you. You'd convince him not to do it. So though it might break both your hearts, he wouldn't risk you knowing lest your tears or words would change his lovestruck heart and mind."</p><p>"I-" I felt dizzy. That couldn't be true - but it...it did make sense and - I turned to Ibrahim, feeling like I would be sick. "Did you know?"</p><p>He looked at me with regret. "Erik made me vow not to say - but I am not worried." I closed my eyes as he continued. "Not in the least. I know the Shah. He will break and Erik will live. If I thought differently, I would have said something. I would have protested this plan. But he will live, Christine, I promise he will."</p><p>"I have my own secret," said Nadir; I looked again at him. "I fully plan on taking Erik's place so that, should the Grand Vizier be wrong, you and Erik can have a chance to live your lives. And I will either die watching that bastard suffer, or I will live to tell the tale of how he couldn't handle the pain and ended his life. During which you will walk into the sunset with your...betrothed? Surely he's proposed by now, or at least broached the subject of marriage - he's obsessed enough with you. There, Christine, now you know." He turned again toward the door. "Still think me evil?"</p><p>He left, leaving me absolutely reeling in emotions.</p><p>Far too many emotions.</p>
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<a name="section0075"><h2>75. The Lady</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>I couldn't sleep.</p><p>So I left my room one night to go walk through the streets of Moscow. Never mind the freezing winter temperature. Never mind the dark clouds over the moon that threatened to bring rain; that blocked out nearly all light save for the streetlamps. I didn't care. I was too lonely; my mind too awake. And the night was far too quiet.</p><p>It was while I walked, watching the dark cobblestones as they passed beneath my feet, that I stopped at a sound. It was a cry. The voice of a lady asking for help.</p><p>A very little lady.</p><p>I went to the source of the sound - an alley between two buildings - and found her. Wrapped in a woolen blanket, barely larger than my hand.</p><p>A Siamese kitten.</p><p>In the little illumination, I could see how skinny she was. The poor little dear was starving.</p><p>By the state she was in, either her mother had abandoned her, or her owner had. Either way, I was not going to let her die.</p><p>I thought, of course, of my curse. I thought of how becoming attached to this little creature could potentially kill her. But looking at her, I knew she would perish either way. I could provide a few more years of life and a warm, comfortable home in the meantime.</p><p>I went to my knees before her as she looked at me, sending a high-pitched meow in my direction. I smiled. "Hello, pretty girl," I whispered.</p><p>She meowed again, attempting to move toward me, but she was too weak. She fell from her feet. I held out my hand to her, letting her become acquainted with my smell. The moment her nose met my fingers, she rubbed her cheek and forehead against me. I took that as consent to pick her up.</p><p>Once she was in my hands, she purred. Loudly. She closed her eyes and continued rubbing her face against my fingers, thanking me for finding her.</p><p>And a quick examination of her small body let me know that - yes, my first instinct was right. She was indeed a girl.</p><p>I cupped my other hand over her, shielding her from the cold, as I walked back to the tavern. I hid her in my coat while walking in, hoping that she didn't meow. Luckily, she merely continued to purr. Only when I was in my room again did I bring her out. She looked back at me with wide, blue eyes.</p><p>"Are you hungry, little darling?" I stroked her tiny forehead and she narrowed her eyelids in pleasure. I looked to the dresser, where I still had half a loaf of bread. It was late enough that the kitchen of the tavern was closed, so this was all I was able to offer at the moment. I went to the bread, picked off a piece, and held it out to her - hoping that she would find it appetizing.</p><p>To my relief, she did. After investigating it for nearly a full minute, she opened her mouth and accepted the food. She swallowed, licked her chops, and asked for more. I obliged. After several more morsels of bread, and a bit of water as well, she decided that she was full and curled up in my hand. She promptly fell asleep.</p><p>At that gesture, that show of trust, I knew she was mine. I knew that I'd do anything for her.</p><p>"What do I call you?" I asked her. I pet her bony back, feather- light. Lord, she felt so fragile. Her little paws flexed at the contact. Slowly so as not to disturb her, I brought her up to my face and kissed her lightly between her ears. Her purring only intensified, and she pushed her face into my lips. I laughed and kissed her again.</p><p>I went to the bed and set her down on the blankets, and the moment she was out of my hands, she protested. How dare I leave her alone - how dare I step away to the other side of the room? 'Really,' she squealed, 'the audacity of it.'</p><p>"One moment, love," I said gently. "Give me one moment." I changed as quickly as I could into sleep-clothes and went back to the bed, sitting cross-legged on it. I placed a pillow over my legs, picked her up where she was lying on the foot of the mattress, and put her on that pillow. She settled in and slept, looking like the little angel she was.</p><p>After what felt like half an hour, after not daring to move except to run my forefinger over her cream-colored fur, I finally reached out to the bedside table where the book I was currently reading lay. It was in Russian - by now, I had learned the language - and told the story of a missionary on a trip to the Arabian peninsula, who fell in love with a homeless woman there. I didn't much care for the protagonist, the missionary, but I did rather like the woman's character. Her name was Ayesha, and although the world had dealt her nothing but misfortune, she continued to hold a stubborn spark in her heart. The missionary found her, alone at night, and offered her shelter.</p><p>Very much in the way I'd just now found my little roommate.</p><p>I turned away from the book to look at her.</p><p>"Ayesha," I said, trying it on my tongue. I liked it. "Should I call you Ayesha?"</p><p>She purred at the sound of my voice.</p><p>I grinned, knowing I hadn't smiled like this in so long. I hadn't smiled at all before tonight, not since...well.</p><p>I found my place in the book, holding it with one hand and petting her with the other. "Ayesha it is, then."</p>
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<a name="section0076"><h2>76. The Dungeon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>Ayesha butted her head against my hand, making the pen's tip slide across the paper, causing a thick trail of ink to spread from one edge to another.</p><p>Not that it made much difference. Actually, it was more art than I was able to currently create. At least the page now had something on it.</p><p>I put the pen on the paper and closed the book, moving it to the bedside table. After the fiasco tonight with Nadir, I didn't want to spend any time with any human being - not even dear Ibrahim. No, I wanted to be alone in my new bedroom - my third one, no less, in Persia alone - and sit under the blankets with Ayesha, nursing my churning stomach with some tea.</p><p>I scratched behind her ears. She closed her eyes and purred, sitting contentedly beside me.</p><p>"You have no idea what's going on, do you, girl?" I whispered. "You have no clue."</p><p>She merely purred a bit louder and nudged my hand with her cheek, asking me to pet her chin.</p><p>"I am a bit jealous. I wish I had that sort of ignorance."</p><p>She laid down on her stomach, tucking all four paws underneath her, with her side touching mine. I felt her throat continue to vibrate as I scratched.</p><p>"Christine?" Ibrahim's voice outside my door. "Are you still awake?"</p><p>"Yes. Come in."</p><p>He did. Immediately, Ayesha jumped down from the bed and went to the Grand Vizier, rubbing against his legs. I pulled my legs to my chest, that horrible knot still tightening in my stomach. In my chest. "What is it?"</p><p>"I just met with the Shah."</p><p>I could feel myself blanche. "He was here?"</p><p>"No. I met with him downstairs. Do not worry."</p><p>I hugged my legs a bit tighter. "I didn't even realize you were gone."</p><p>"I did not want to bother you; I thought you were sleeping. But I did leave you a note should you wonder where I was."</p><p>I nodded. "What did you talk about?"</p><p>"I had an idea." He gave me the most heartening smile he could currently muster. "Would you like to see Erik?"</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>He'd told the Shah that he wished to taunt the Angel of Death, who at the moment still hadn't been told I wasn't, in fact, being put to death. Originally, Erik was going to be informed of the new plan, of my transfer from him to Ibrahim, by a guard. But Ibrahim came up with the idea of telling him himself. He'd bring me along, of course, just to rub salt into the wound.</p><p>Ibrahim walked me through the halls of the palace. I was in ordinary clothes - I wondered if Ibrahim was telling people, the Shah included, that he simply preferred his concubines in modest dress. I had to assume that no one would question the Grand Vizier's taste; I had to imagine as well that the Shah respected him enough not to make a comment. For all of the darkness in his heart, the ruler of Persia actually seemed to like Ibrahim.</p><p>As we passed, servants bowed deeply to him. This had certainly not been the case where Erik was concerned - rather than bow, servants whispered or looked away entirely.</p><p>Like with Erik, however, eyes did linger on me several seconds longer than I would have liked them to. I tried to keep my gaze down as much as possible to avoid their stares.</p><p>We came to a large stone door, beyond which was the courtyard - a place I'd only seen through Erik's window. Across the courtyard was a small black tile-worked building, shrouded by bushes and trees, guarded by two large men. We approached it. As the guards laid eyes on Ibrahim, they exchanged a few quick words with the Grand Vizier, bowed low, and then opened the door to the building, where I saw with surprise that there was no floor.</p><p>Instead, a single wide staircase led down - down what looked like several stories. It seemed, luckily, to be lit by ornate oil lamps on the walls, so we were not about to step into complete darkness.</p><p>Ibrahim nodded to the men. We entered, and they closed the doors behind us.</p><p>I must have been breathing fast and hard, for he whispered beside me: "Do not fret. You are not in danger here."</p><p>But it wasn't myself I was worried for, I realized. I could feel, even from the top of the stairs, the sickness and despair and utter loneliness of this place. I pictured Erik here and thought I might collapse with grief.</p><p>He sensed this and put his hand on my back. That small friendly touch centered me, and I found myself able to walk down the stairs alongside him.</p><p>At the bottom, we were greeted by yet another set of guards. Ibrahim issued a request, and one of the guards bowed and spoke briefly, then walked, glancing at me only momentarily before he turned. Ibrahim followed, so I did too.</p><p>The palace dungeon, it appeared, was as wide as the palace itself. We walked, and as we made dozens of turns, I tried to memorize where exactly I was in this maze of locked steel doors.</p><p>"Guard," Ibrahim said suddenly, "do you speak French?"</p><p>The guard faltered a bit and looked back at the Grand Vizier in confusion for only a moment. He paused, blinked, and continued walking.</p><p>"Guard, if you can speak French, I will personally fuck you in the ass and make you moan all night long with the most intense, euphoric kind of pleasure."</p><p>I reddened, but once again the man only blinked in slight confusion. He stopped and spoke to Ibrahim in Persian, looking apologetic, and the Grand Vizier merely laughed shortly and replied, appearing remorseful but lightheartedly so.</p><p>"Excellent," whispered Ibrahim when the guard resumed his pace in front of us. When he spotted me looking at him, he winked. "Apologies for the language. Good thing he didn't understand what I said, or I would have some...very quick and clever explaining to do, yes?"</p><p>The guard glanced back again to make sure Ibrahim wasn't speaking to him, but looked relieved when he saw the whispers were directed at me. Just a man speaking to his slave, nothing more.</p><p>I wondered with no small levels of paranoia what would happen if someone in one of the cells spoke French - but then I reminded myself that these were criminals (or deemed criminals by the Shah), and claiming the Grand Vizier said what he said would sooner end in their death rather than Ibrahim's punishment.</p><p>We arrived at last at a metal door in the middle of one particularly long hallway. Before the guard could begin unlocking the cell, Ibrahim spoke quietly to him. The guard regarded him with sudden alarm, and started what looked like an insistent protest, when Ibrahim's frighteningly domineering face returned. The guard stumbled over his words, ceased talking altogether, and bowed deeply. He stood, unlocked the door, and allowed us inside.</p><p>I guessed that Ibrahim asked him not to come in with us, for he closed it on our backs with an expression of anxious regret, and I heard it lock once more. Ibrahim stood right in front of the door, blocking the small peephole that might allow the guard to look through.</p><p>I turned, then, to the cell itself.</p><p>There he was.</p><p>Back to us, hunched over a wooden desk, in the same clothes he'd worn earlier tonight. The same clothes he'd likely be forced to wear for God-only-knew how long.</p><p>Slowly, as though he simply didn't care anymore, he turned in his chair with all of the energy of a man who'd lost every single thing he held dear. His mask-less face held the look of someone who was merely existing for the sake of doing so.</p><p>But when he saw me, his body electrified.</p><p>His eyes rounded and he took a deep, silent gasp. He stood and went to me, nearly knocking his chair over, and put his hands on my cheeks.</p><p>"I thought..." he whispered, breath shaking.</p><p>"Are you all right?" I asked him, heart hammering. "Did they hurt you?"</p><p>He shook his head. He looked at Ibrahim next to me. "I thought she would be..."</p><p>"I am here to tell you that, as per orders from the Shah, her services will be transferred to me. You may have her back, as well as your cat - also in my care - once you finish the plans for the Chamber - which, I see, have already been delivered to you." He nodded to the desk, where papers and pens were scattered. He smiled, but it didn't meet his eyes. "Her transference, of course, was my idea. I expect you to act thoroughly offended to find you must share your closely held property, should anyone else mention it."</p><p>Erik gazed at Ibrahim in disbelief, mingled in with admiration and gratitude. "Ibrahim-"</p><p>"No need for thanks."</p><p>"I must give it, anyway."</p><p>Ibrahim nodded, face softening. "I would do it again. It was not any trouble at all."</p><p>"And that is why I will forever consider you a friend."</p><p>"Oh, careful, Erik - you are starting to sound as though you actually like my presence."</p><p>Erik smiled. "I am throwing caution to the wind, then." He looked at me again, smile disappearing. He examined my face. "You cannot imagine my relief, Christine, that you are breathing right now."</p><p>At that, he took me into his arms, and I pressed myself as hard as I could into him, trying to merge myself with him. Not ever wanting to ever let him go.</p><p>"We cannot come here again, Erik," said Ibrahim softly. "The palace will be suspicious if we visit more than just this once."</p><p>His grip on me tightened. "I assumed that."</p><p>We held each other in silence, and it was only in this silence that I remembered what Nadir told me of Erik's secret. And though I wanted to keep quiet about it, my mind simply wouldn't let me.</p><p>"Nadir said he would take your place in the Chamber," I whispered.</p><p>He stiffened. "He told you."</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>A silence. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised." Another pause. "I'm sorry I could not tell you. Do you hate me, Christine?"</p><p>"No." No, I realized, because the Daroga was willing to sacrifice himself and Erik would not die. And besides, I was too exhausted and sad to even make room for anything less than love and relief upon seeing that Erik was all right. Imprisoned, yes, and alone - but without cuts or bruises. In one piece.</p><p>"Nadir wants to take my place?" he repeated.</p><p>"Yes, he said as much."</p><p>"Hm." But that was all he said on the matter. His next words were directed at Ibrahim. "How long will I be in here?"</p><p>"Until you finish the Chamber."</p><p>I felt his heartbeat quicken, felt his body wish to recoil. His voice turned to sand - gritty yet soft. "That could take months."</p><p>"I know."</p><p>"I can't be in here for months."</p><p>At the panic in his voice, I pulled away but held onto his waist with my hands. I looked at his face, a terrible grimace taking it over.</p><p>"I can't," he said harshly, "I can't be in a cage like this. Not again."</p><p>Not again.</p><p>I remembered what he'd said he'd been forced to do as a child and wanted to steal him away from here immediately.</p><p>"There's nothing I can do, Erik." Ibrahim furrowed his brows, frowning. "There's nothing more I can do. Not without raising suspicion."</p><p>Erik closed his eyes. I could see him forcing himself to calm down, knowing as well as I did that he and I had precious little time left here together - that I'd be whisked away soon. At last, he swallowed and opened his eyes to look at me.</p><p>He held me in his arms again, crushing me against him, so tightly I nearly couldn't take a breath. I didn't care.</p><p>"I will finish this monstrosity as soon as I can," he said, "and I will see you again. That will be my light at the end of this endless, dark, cold tunnel."</p><p>I breathed him in, savoring the smell of pine.</p><p>Savoring him, imagining that it was only us like this forever.</p><p>Knowing well I'd spend days and weeks unable to sleep, unable eat.</p><p>Unable to breathe.</p>
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<a name="section0077"><h2>77. The Umbrella</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>At times, I did wonder if I would become as famous as I was when I performed in Lyon.</p><p>I wondered if word would spread outside of Moscow, into the rest of Russia. If word of me would wander west, to the far reaches of Europe, and into France.</p><p>If that happened, then would French authorities rightly assume that I killed Javert? Was the law such that they could come and seize me - and put me back into a cage?</p><p>Of course, I could deny it. I could easily deny it. After all, that religious zealot in Lyon was adamant that he himself committed the murder. As far as I was aware, based on the bits of conversation I'd picked up on my way out of the country, he'd likely already been deemed guilty. I was also the only witness, so if I said that I escaped before that man could kill me, that I ran east to escape him, then they wouldn't have much evidence that I ended Javert - other than mere speculation. In fact, my running away might be even more proof that the zealot was dangerous.</p><p>He'd already told the police he'd killed me. He'd already proven himself capable of murderous hatred toward a child. Surely they'd believe my alibi.</p><p>I closed my eyes. All of this, of course, was a lie. A blatant lie. But I couldn't be imprisoned behind bars. Not again.</p><p>Hopefully, rumor did not spread so far. Hopefully, if it did, people would see it as a coincidence; that there just happened to be two people with the face of death, roughly the same age, walking the Earth. Hopefully the fact that that man pleaded guilty meant that the case was simply closed forever.</p><p>A soft meow took me from my thoughts.</p><p>I looked to my side to find Ayesha sitting there, on the floor next to me. I'd been staring down at my hands for the last ten minutes, I realized. I'd started by practicing music in my head, and ended up on this path of anxiety.</p><p>I sighed, leaning back against the foot of the bed, and gazed down at Ayesha; I was grateful for her interruption. I reached out a hand to pet her head. She'd grown so much these last couple of months. "I should occupy my mind with something else, shouldn't I, darling?"</p><p>She chirped shortly and went to my lap, finding a warm spot there.</p><p>"Agreed," I said, and brought my hand up to the bed. I pulled down the mechanical engineering textbook from the mattress, opening it up to where the paper was hiding - the one I'd been scribbling on the past few days with ideas. I'd started to imagine a little automaton with a violin, and the only way to make it play was to clap. A little machine meant for entertainment. Not so unlike myself.</p><p>After working on it for a while, losing myself in that puzzle, I closed the paper again into the book and set it aside on the floor. I fed Ayesha a bit of meat, gave her water, and finally changed into my sleep-clothes. I turned off the lights and climbed into bed. As she'd taken to doing lately, she curled up right above my head and slept with me.</p><p>But when the night drew on, lightning and thunder began.</p><p>The image of Sasha was blasted to the forefront of my mind again.</p><p>I sat up gasping. Immediately panicked. Shivering. Teeth chattering. I hugged myself, arms wrapping around my chest, hands gripping my own shoulders.</p><p>Ayesha moved from the pillow she'd been laying on and went to my side. She mewed and brought one of her paws up to tap, gently, against my elbow. Slowly, with great hesitation, I gave her what she wanted.</p><p>Even if I was terrified out of my mind, full of grief and rage as well, I would not deny her affection.</p><p>I petted her head, still shaking.</p><p>She purred, and the effect was immediate.</p><p>That small, comforting sound brought me back. I lowered myself down onto my back and tried to breathe evenly. When I did, she went to my chest and made herself comfortable there, still purring.</p><p>And I was reminded immediately of Cerberus, how he'd done the same. Pressed his weight onto me to stop me from breaking apart.</p><p>I closed my eyes and felt tears fall from my eyes, my own mind as much a rainstorm as the atmosphere outside. My thoughts were lightning and my emotions were thunder.</p><p>Ayesha moved atop me, bringing her face very near to my cheek. I felt her sandpaper tongue against my face, licking the tears away, purring all the while.</p><p>It only made me cry harder.</p><p>One day, perhaps soon or years from now, she'd be taken away. Just like all the rest. I wasn't sure I could take it. What a mistake this had been - what a terrible, impulsive...</p><p>But as I brought my fingers to the fur on her back, felt the love pour out of her, I knew how much she'd improved my life. Brought some light to the endless darkness of solitude. And how I'd changed her life as well - given her a home where food, water, and shelter were consistent. I couldn't have had this be any other way.</p><p>"You're so sweet, Ayesha," I whispered. "You're such a little dear."</p><p>At that, she rubbed her head against my partially parted lips, treating me to a bit of fur in my mouth. I laughed. And my tears at last stopped.</p><p>The moment my sorrow had dissipated, she stopped licking or rubbing my face and began cleaning her own paws instead. 'There', she practically said, 'my work here is done. You're welcome.'</p><p>I kept a hand on her back, feeling her move while she cleaned. She settled at last, stilling beneath my hand, purring herself to sleep. The sound allowed me to drift as well.</p>
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<a name="section0078"><h2>78. The Impostor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Fun fact and disclaimer: Like with the Golestan Palace, the Mirror Hall within the palace is an actual place. However, I have taken creative license and am making Mirror Hall larger than it actually is, as well as changing a bit of its design. No disrespect to actual Mirror Hall intended; it is a beautiful place and worthy of visiting, at least through pictures, and full of incredible history worth researching - however, like the royalty, the palace has merely been modified for the story.</p><p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>I was lying awake in bed the day after visiting Erik. I stared at the sunbeams on the ceiling, feeling Ayesha purring next to me, when I heard the front door of Ibrahim's chamber open. I heard loud, raucous laughter. Two men. One was definitely Ibrahim.</p><p>He'd been away the whole day, meeting with the Shah and various officials - so he'd told me. And now, in the late afternoon, he was finally back. I was finding that I hated when he was away. I didn't like being alone; even if Ayesha was here.</p><p>I rose from the bed and went to the study door. As I did so, I heard the voices grow softer. More intimate.</p><p>Carefully, I opened the door and peeked out.</p><p>There Ibrahim was, hands cupping Prince Izad's face, both of them profile to me. With immense tenderness and love, he brought his lips to meet the Prince's. At first, the kiss was gentle - but it soon became urgent and heavy. Ibrahim's brows creased and he closed his eyes. I could see him losing himself the way I often lost myself in Erik. Feeling thoroughly as though I were invading upon their privacy, I closed my door.</p><p>Moments later, I heard their voices once more, deep and throaty. Footsteps. Then silence.</p><p>When I peeked out again, I saw that Ibrahim's bedroom door - previously opened - was now closed.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>Days passed. Days turned into weeks. And every hour was more torturous than the last. Every day I wondered and fretted after Erik's wellbeing - was he eating enough? Were they giving him clean water? Letting him bathe? Was he lonely? Was he breaking apart?</p><p>The constant worry was causing me to bite my nails to their beds. I'd started chewing the skin around them as well - so often, in fact, that the tips of some of my fingers were bloody. I was having trouble eating and sleeping. And all of this happened when I was alone in Ibrahim's study, two locked doors between me and the palace beyond.</p><p>The Grand Vizier noticed my anxiety and offered what comfort he was able: bringing me with him as he went to various meetings in the palace.</p><p>I did not even care that people would stare at me. Talk about me. I wanted the distraction, as unpleasant as it was.</p><p>"You will not be expected to talk," he told me while I tied my shoes on my feet. "Even if you could speak or understand Persian, you will be expected to remain silent." He watched my fingers work. "We will not be meeting with the Shah today - I already met with him this morning. But we will be dining once more in the Mirror Hall. While there, I advise you - no, tell you - to merely focus on your food. Do not look at anyone in the eye; do not speak to me, unless it is urgent."</p><p>I nodded. Of course.</p><p>I knew that this would only make him have to work extra hard at being being an impostor - not only did he have to put on a show of dominance and charm, he would have to pretend that he felt I was beneath him as well. One slip of his body language and people would ask questions.</p><p>"Thank you, Ibrahim, for..." I paused and looked up at him. "For everything."</p><p>"You and Erik have both already thanked me."</p><p>"Yes. I know. But without your help, I'm not sure... And the lengths you are going to to make sure he and I are as comfortable as we can be-"</p><p>"It is no trouble." But he was smiling gently.</p><p>I started tying my other shoe. "Even just the fact that you say it's no trouble; how selfless and generous you've been- Oh!" I looked at him again. "We never got you a Christmas present in return."</p><p>He blinked and then laughed. "No, I suppose not. But do not worry. I do not want anything."</p><p>"Erik said the same thing," I said, feeling bile rise from my stomach at the mere mention of him. "He said that he wanted nothing but me for Christmas."</p><p>Ibrahim nodded slowly. "I told you before - he loves you very much."</p><p>"I love him, too." I swallowed my nausea down. "Are you sure you don't want anything?"</p><p>"There's not much you or Erik could get me without going through another person to obtain that thing - and how, exactly, would that work for either of you? You are not allowed anywhere without me, and Erik is - well, he cannot currently leave his living quarters, either."</p><p>That was undeniably true.</p><p>I merely felt guilty.</p><p>"I could draw you a picture," I murmured, offering him the same gift I'd offered Erik Christmas morning.</p><p>I'd finished tying my shoes. Ibrahim offered me his hands. I took them and he pulled me to my feet. "Anything material I can easily obtain for myself - I am the Grand Vizier of Persia, Christine." He winked and let go of my hands. "The only thing I want is the Prince - and the best gift from you or Erik or anyone is continual acceptance - normalization, if you will - of my relationship with him. No shows of surprise. No looking away. No different treatment. Acceptance. That is what I wish for."</p><p>I could do that. For all he'd done for us, I could give him that. "Done."</p><p>"Excellent." He gave a short bow of his head and stepped lightly to his chamber door. I followed. "Now, remember. You are currently my slave. You must walk behind me. I may speak harshly to you in front of the members of court - it is merely for show. Do not be alarmed by any of my behavior toward you."</p><p>I nodded, face calm, but wanted to snort. The level of acting I had to do, had to watch, with Ibrahim had absolutely nothing on how I'd needed to behave with Erik. What I'd been forced to watch him do in front of me, without being 'alarmed'.</p><p>So we walked.</p><p>I kept pace behind him. No guards this time - not as many political enemies, I supposed, as Erik had. I was sure he had some, but it was the Shah and Erik whom people likely associated with tyranny and death. No, Ibrahim's hands seemed to be clean, and his relaxed posture as he stepped through the halls was proof of that. Rather than an entourage, he appeared to be relying on his innocence, as well as the constant posted men at every corner and doorway, for safety.</p><p>Besides, I decided, Ibrahim did have a disarming presence - when he wanted to. When he wasn't portraying the picture of authoritativeness, he smiled at servants and nodded to guards. And the moment those servants or guards recognized that it was him - and not, say, Erik or the Shah - they visibly released a breath and bowed.</p><p>We walked, and I kept my gaze mostly down, until we came to the Mirror Hall again. My first instinct was to run, to feel utterly sick, remembering exactly what had happened the last couple of times I'd been here. But I made myself remember: the Shah was not here. And Ibrahim was right next to me. He would be next to me the whole time. Nothing bad would happen today.</p><p>And nothing bad did.</p><p>Actually, the dinner was...boring. Not that I was complaining. Boring was better than many of its alternatives, especially given my position and where I was, who I was with. But after Ibrahim spoke harshly to me in French to sit next to him - no pleasantries or smiles about it - he didn't address me at all. I was left entirely alone. I recognized a few of the men present at the table from the first dinner I'd attended, where Erik had performed his teapot trick. The men, of course, recognized me as well, though they stayed quiet.</p><p>My mind wandered, though luckily, I was able to keep thoughts of Erik (mostly) at bay. I instead looked at the enormous mirrors on the walls. They were everywhere - floor to ceiling, on the ceiling itself; and as I looked at them, I wondered...</p><p>Did Echo Hall run behind this room? Was it similar to the Khanum's chambers, in that they were two-way mirrors? Were Echoes currently watching me as I looked, unbeknownst to me, right back at them?</p><p>I shuddered and looked down at my wine.</p><p>I likely wouldn't ever know.</p>
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<a name="section0079"><h2>79. The Prayer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>At times, I did find the urge to burn my skin or put a knife to it. But I imagined Giovanni - what he'd say if I did so - and couldn't bear to even look at a hot needle or blade. Not until the urge went away.</p><p>But despite Ayesha's warm company, icy loneliness still sometimes crept in, and I couldn't quite find a flame warm enough to keep it at bay. Not music, nor magic, nor engineering. Nothing worked. I knew Ayesha loved me - and I loved her dearly in return - but there were moments that it simply wasn't enough. After finding a family where I was truly an equal, the lack of human company was terrible.</p><p>And though my time with Javert had been painful, at least the pain took up too much of my mind for me to consider my own solitude for very long.</p><p>I wouldn't ever want to go back to that, but now...</p><p>Now I saw eternity stretching before me. Now I saw how Ayesha's inevitable death would be the end of my importance in this world, and I would truly fade into dust.</p><p>That thought was so particularly wrenching that I found myself walking toward a church. Russian Orthodox. I had been raised Catholic. But God was God I suppose.</p><p>Of course, I'd stopped believing the moment I'd killed Javert. But there was something about the church that drew me toward it, like opening an old toy chest even though the urge to play with the toys was gone. Nostalgia. Visiting the grave of a long-gone friend.</p><p>I walked into the church hours before the sun rose above the horizon. It had been locked - but that proved little issue for me. I found my way through the church, the space illuminated dimly by white moonlight shining through the high square windows. I could see, even here, all of the opulence of the building's décor - gold gilded walls, paintings of vibrant colors, and enormous chandeliers hanging from the arching ceiling.</p><p>Where did all of this come from? It had to be paid for. Who was paying for it?</p><p>Surely the money used to purchase the materials for this church was better suited going to the people who attended services.</p><p>I looked up at the large painting at the back of the interior. I could just make out the image of Christ standing there, arms open, as if welcoming me into His arms. As if He would ever welcome me.</p><p>I looked down.</p><p>"If I could ask you for anything," I said aloud, "I would ask for a love that won't abandon me."</p><p>Silence greeted my words.</p><p>"I have lost every person who has ever cared for me, and it has happened too many times for me to consider the possibility of a coincidence. So if I could ask for anything, it would be that one person - just one - doesn't perish before their time. That this person doesn't die at my hands. I want companionship. That's what I would ask for."</p><p>The only sound was my breath. I turned my gaze back up to the painting, where Christ merely mocked me with His unmoving eyes.</p><p>"But you are not real," I whispered. "So I will not receive it."</p><p>I turned on my heels and exited the church.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>The crowd today was enormous.</p><p>It was the middle of summer, and the sky was as clear as my audience was greedy. Greedy for the image of my face. They'd seen my magic - now they wanted to see the unholiness that hid behind it.</p><p>I tore off my mask and let them scream and jeer and laugh. Let them whiten and redden and back away. And then I sang.</p><p>All of the loneliness I felt. All of the grief. The loss. I poured my soul into the song.</p><p>It worked its own sort of magic. I pulled their hearts from their chest and shattered them, just as I showed them my own broken one.</p><p>And I watched with a blend of sadness and satisfaction as they felt what I felt. Sadness because I could see their own loss. Satisfaction because at least, for a moment, I was not alone in those feelings.</p><p>One man in the front of the crowd caught my eye, as he stared at me, tears falling from his jade eyes.</p><p>Tan skinned with a severe expression, dressed in a blue uniform that didn't appear Russian, he removed his spectacles and wiped his eyes. He kept his thumb and forefinger pressed into his eyelids as he said a word aloud - I wasn't at all certain, really, that he realized the word left his lips:</p><p>"Rookheeya."</p>
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<a name="section0080"><h2>80. The Arrival</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>My artistic inspiration returned to me, but it wasn't due to mental peace. Actually, my disquietude had spilled over into the part of my mind that longed to draw, and my fingers twitched until a pen was at last in their grip.</p><p>I was working with a sort of irritation, a dissatisfaction, like no matter how finished the picture was, it still didn't please me. Every stroke of the pen felt like a step toward a destination I would never reach.</p><p>I drew myself in Erik's arms, standing with our arms wrapped around one another. He was all right. Well-fed. Healthy. Rested. And he was free.</p><p>Free from his prison below the palace, at least.</p><p>I'd skipped breakfast to work on this picture. My mid-day meal as well. Night was fast approaching when Ibrahim asked to come into my room. I allowed him in verbally, staying seated on my bed, Ayesha sleeping behind me on my pillow. He entered. In his hands were two bowls of stew, one balancing on his arm.</p><p>"Would you be kind enough to eat supper with me? I am quite lonely." He gave a charming smile and moved one bowl to his free hand.</p><p>"How can that be?" I tried a humorous tone, but it sounded bitter instead. "You've been around people all day."</p><p>"And you did not come with me today!" He closed the door be leaning back on it. "You stayed behind."</p><p>"I've only come with you a couple of times, Ibrahim. You're the one who told me that joining you couldn't be an everyday occurrence."</p><p>I didn't mean for my tongue to be so sharp. He lost his smile and dropped his gaze, raising his brows. He went to his desk and placed down the bowls of stew.</p><p>"You cannot accompany me everyday because it would be a distraction to those I meet with. The times I've taken you with me, I've claimed it's a punishment for some disobedience on your part - that you like being left alone and getting out of my chambers is a great discomfort."</p><p>I looked down at my sketchbook. "I know."</p><p>Silence while I felt his gaze on me.</p><p>He cleared his throat. "Are you hungry?"</p><p>"Yes. Thank you." It was a lie, but there was no harm in eating.</p><p>He handed me the food. I ate in bed while he sat at his desk, chair at an angle.</p><p>"You are missing him," he said simply.</p><p>I nodded. Of course I am, I wanted to say, but resisted. When I put the spoon to my lips, I knew it was delicious. But my tongue could only taste blandness. Just as everything appeared gray despite the colors around me. Emotions bleeding into senses.</p><p>"Are you sure I can't see him again?" I asked.</p><p>"I am sure." He paused. "He is surviving. And working in the Chamber. That is all I know - all I can offer. I ask the guards but they don't have much to offer either. He is eating. Creating. And not complaining - not acknowledging the guards at all. He is not being beaten or tortured. The Shah wanted him punished but untouched. I wish I could say more."</p><p>Physically, then, he was fine. That was a relief, but it didn't mean he was all right. Mentally, he could very well have been falling apart.</p><p>Ibrahim sighed at something he saw in my expression. He set his spoon in his bowl and folded his hands in his lap. "I understand. I am concerned about him too."</p><p>I didn't respond. I merely played with the stew, moving chunks of lamb around with the utensil.</p><p>"And if it was the Prince in the dungeon," he continued gently, "I would be losing my mind. I do not want to imagine what you are feeling. The pain and terror must be unbearable. I am sorry."</p><p>I finally met his gaze. A question burned as I did so.</p><p>"Ibrahim," I said softly, "can I ask you something?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"When did you know - or rather, how did you know?"</p><p>"Know?"</p><p>"That you love Prince Izad."</p><p>Ibrahim's lips tilted upward at the corners. "He smiled at me."</p><p>I blinked at him. "That's it?"</p><p>"Yes. Well, I'd known both the Shah and Prince since we were children. The former Grand Vizier was my uncle - he died shortly after the late Shah. I was appointed immediately after." He took a bite of stew, swallowed, and continued. "The Shah and I are the same age. Twenty-six. The Prince is Erik's age. Twenty. And I did not realize my feelings for him until shortly after Erik arrived here. I don't know what it was - one moment, I saw Izad as a friend; and the next, he smiled in just the right way, and I fell hard. Then came the Prince's feelings - or rather, my noticing of his feelings. Apparently he loved me all his life." A glow had started in Ibrahim's eyes. "We spoke for a while in constant innuendos until he finally blurted out how he felt. A huge risk, but I am glad he took it. And Nadir - well, the Daroga quickly figured it out. And apparently his spies found out that both Izad and I greatly disliked the Shah."</p><p>I put my stew down, listening.</p><p>"So Nadir approached me with his grand plan - he took an enormous risk as well. Luckily for him, I have no greater wish than to see the love of my life on the throne instead of the arrogant, cruel man who currently sits upon it. I joined with Erik and Nadir and - oh, yes. Although I spoke a very little amount of several languages - French included - Erik was insistent that I learn. It's been almost two years and I think I have mastered the language." He grinned. "I am smarter than Erik takes me for, you know."</p><p>I smiled back. "I know."</p><p>He nodded, continuing his meal.</p><p>"So," I said, "if Prince Izad becomes Shah-"</p><p>"When," Ibrahim corrected.</p><p>"When," I agreed. "When Prince Izad becomes Shah, will he change the law so that you can marry?"</p><p>Ibrahim's spoon stopped in midair. He blinked, inhaled slowly, and lowered it back into the bowl. He looked at me again. "No. No, I don't think that can happen, unfortunately. There would be...too much resistance, I think. And that is putting it lightly." He'd lost any previous lightness as he spoke, turning instead to a melancholy introspection.</p><p>I glanced down, shame bubbling in my core. "I shouldn't have asked."</p><p>"It was a good question," he said. "But...no. No, he will be expected to have an heir. And that does require a woman." He chuckled humorlessly. "To be frank, I feel more pity for whatever woman - or women, I suppose - he marries. It will not be romantically satisfying for her." He half-smiled. "And he was the one worried about me sleeping in women's beds."</p><p>I noticed a hint of jealousy in his tone, but I didn't press it. Of course he was jealous. I would be too.</p><p>"You know, Christine," he said then, "I do enjoy talking to you. And do not be timid to ask me anything you'd like. I do not offend easily. And if you do offend me, I will either brush it off or let you know. Do not be afraid to speak freely. In fact, I would prefer it."</p><p>That made me feel a bit better. A bit more connected and safe. I felt my muscles unclench, if only slightly.</p><p>"Ibrahim?"</p><p>"Christine?"</p><p>"I will miss you."</p><p>He stared at me, waiting for more. I blushed.</p><p>"I mean," I continued, "if I ever make it out of here, I will miss your company. You've been a wonderful friend, and you will be in my thoughts for...well, likely forever."</p><p>He nodded slowly, and then regarded me with affection. "I will miss you as well, Christine."</p><p>A pause.</p><p>"Ibrahim?"</p><p>He grinned. "Christine?"</p><p>"You can call me Rose if you want to."</p><p>He cocked his head. "But Christine is your name, yes?"</p><p>"Yes," I said, "but...I don't know. I sort of liked it. You said it with affection. It made the title less frightening - like it was a nickname given by a friend rather than a slave name." I paused. "Is that wrong?"</p><p>He thought for a moment. "I...I don't think so. I think there is a power in reclaiming a name that another bestowed upon you without your consent. It means that the word is yours now - not theirs. And you get to choose who calls you by that name."</p><p>Warmth overtook me - of anything he'd ever said to me, that had been the kindest. "Thank you, Ibrahim, that means so much-"</p><p>A knock from beyond. Someone at his chambers.</p><p>Ibrahim's eyes narrowed. "Rather late, yes?" He glanced at the window, at the black night beyond. "I will be back."</p><p>I nodded. He got up and was gone for several minutes. In that time, I ate a few more morsels of stew, but the longer I took to eat it, the colder and thus less appetizing it became.</p><p>When he returned, there was a stunned, unreadable expression on his face. He stood in the doorway, staring at me with wide, dark eyes.</p><p>"What is it?" I asked. Unease sent tendrils down my spine. "What's wrong?"</p><p>"Darius is here."</p><p>"Darius?"</p><p>"Nadir's servant."</p><p>Oh. Yes. Of all of Nadir's staff, I'd interacted with him the least. I'd forgotten his name altogether.</p><p>"Is everything all right?" I asked, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. Ayesha protested, but I couldn't mind her at the moment.</p><p>The Grand Vizier's lips thinned. "Something arrived for you from France."</p><p>My heart dropped to my feet. "What?"</p><p>"Something arrived-"</p><p>"No. Yes. I heard that." My voice was shaking. I stood. "Is it a letter from my father?"</p><p>"No," he said slowly. "Apparently he never wrote back."</p><p>My breath was uneven. I felt a sudden chill, icicles forming on the nervous vines gripping me. "Then what is it?"</p><p>"Come." Ibrahim watched me strangely and motioned with his head to follow. "Darius will escort us to Nadir's house."</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>The walk through the palace was torture. It was too slow. I wanted to run to the Daroga's house; my feet begged me to do so, but I somehow found the will to be patient. To my frustration, however, the closer we came to Nadir's home, the worse my anxiety became.</p><p>I focused on nothing - not Ibrahim or Darius or the servants that watched us pass - no, I didn't focus on anything except keeping myself calm enough not to cry or scream in my need to know.</p><p>What had come for me? What was it? If not a letter from my father, then what?</p><p>The moment we arrived at Nadir's house, I wanted to break down the door and run inside. But I held myself together and instead watched Darius put his key into the lock. He led Ibrahim and me inside, took us into Nadir's parlor.</p><p>I saw the Daroga first. I was about to blurt out the question of what came for me, when another form caught my eye, sitting on the couch to my right. I turned and looked.</p><p>And I nearly collapsed.</p><p>Sitting there, thin and baggy-eyed, was my father.</p>
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<a name="section0081"><h2>81. The Proposal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>I waited for the crowd to clear out, watching as they left money for me in my opened brown leather bag. I'd donned my mask once more, disconnecting from anything and everything. There were days when I could pretend I was gaining this much from merely my magic. Other days, like today, I felt as though I were whoring my appearance out for the pleasure of others; and I didn't even have the excuse of captivity to prevent shame from creeping in.</p><p>The crowd dwindled to twenty. Then ten. Then five.</p><p>Then the last person remaining was the strange tan man in blue, his spectacles high up on his nose.</p><p>He cleared his throat when I made eye contact with him, and then reached into his pocket and brought out fifty rubles - fifty! - and placed them into my bag.</p><p>I raised my brows behind my mask. "I do not do encores."</p><p>"I wasn't expecting you to." His voice was serene, yet cold - a wide, flat glacier under blue sky without a speck of flora or fauna. "I was merely impressed."</p><p>"Thank you, Monsieur." My voice was emotionless. Impressed or not - I really didn't care. Still, I glanced down at the money. With just that much, I could afford not to work for a month or more.</p><p>"Monsieur?" he repeated. He switched, then, to my native tongue. "What part of France are you from?"</p><p>After so long, hearing my language was a relief to my ears. I blinked. "A small town - near Rouen," I responded in French. "And you? Are you Russian? French?"</p><p>"I am neither." He brought his hands behind his back. "That is what I have come to you to discuss." He gave a very slight curve of his lips. "Care to accompany me to a pub? An inn? I wish to speak with you."</p><p>"About?"</p><p>"A career prospect."</p><p>"I am not jobless." I was growing uneasy. He was skirting around answers, and I didn't quite care for it.</p><p>"No..." he said, looking at the bag of money. I swept it up and pulled the strings closed. "No, I suppose you are not. And you are content being a public spectacle? You don't find it - I don't know - humiliating?"</p><p>"It's rather hard to sell something when you won't show your customer what you're selling, don't you think? And right now, I have no idea what you are offering, so right now, I cannot give you a yes."</p><p>He nodded. "I do agree. Desire to join me for dinner, then? Some wine - or vodka, I suppose. Don't they drink vodka here?"</p><p>"They have wine as well, yes. Expensive - more expensive than vodka - but yes." I wouldn't take him to the tavern I currently resided in, but I knew of another. Though uneasy, I was curious. "This way."</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>We were seated in a corner of a small very upscale inn. I'd originally taken him to a less-established place, and he merely frowned, shook his head, and turned around. I'd stood dumbfounded for a second, but then followed him, reminding him that he wanted to speak at a pub. He said he did, and merely took me to a high-end place. The place he was currently staying, as it seemed.</p><p>I had no idea who this man was, but the moment the staff of the inn saw him, they bowed.</p><p>The wait staff - not barmaids or barkeeps, but wait staff - bowed as well before taking our order of red wines.</p><p>He perused the menu, humming to himself, as I merely watched him. He tapped his pointer finger on the table, reading through the selection. Ignoring me entirely.</p><p>"As much as I appreciate being wined and dined," I said, "I did assume we would be discussing...whatever it is you wanted to discuss." I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms.</p><p>"Yes." He didn't look at me. "I have a proposal for you."</p><p>"Take me out a few more times, and I will think about it."</p><p>He finally glanced at me. "You've a rather sharp wit, haven't you?"</p><p>"Can't survive on my good looks alone." I gave a sickeningly sweet grin, and he snorted.</p><p>"What do they call you?" he asked, and turned back to the menu.</p><p>"Lord of Shadows, King of Darkness, Master of the Underworld; take your pick."</p><p>He ignored that. For some reason, it bothered me. And my annoyance made me exhale and look away.</p><p>"Erik," I muttered. "My name is Erik."</p><p>"Just Erik?"</p><p>"Just Erik. I don't associated myself with my birth parents."</p><p>"Hm." He paused, and finally folded the menu and put it down. "All right. My name is Nadir Khan. Daroga of Persia."</p><p>"Is that supposed to mean something to me?"</p><p>"No, I suppose not." He smiled. "I am the chief of police of Tehran. I take direct orders from the Shah - Persia's king, if you will. He heard tell of your magic and face and voice, and would like to extend an invitation for you to stay at the Golestan Palace for a year."</p><p>It took a solid few seconds to really take in his words. Though unexpected, it didn't excite me or unnerve me. I think nothing surprised me anymore, no matter the magnitude. "Under conditions, I presume."</p><p>"Oh, yes. Of course. Ah-" A waiter arrived with our wine. "Thank you, young man."</p><p>The waiter bowed and left us alone. He went to stand on the opposite wall with the other two service staff, waiting to be flagged down by a guest.</p><p>"What conditions?" I asked, leaving my wine along for now, watching as the Daroga drank his. "I assume I will need to perform."</p><p>"Yes. His mother grows bored and when the royal family heard of your abilities - a Russian diplomat told them, a long story-"</p><p>"It doesn't sound very long. A Russian diplomat told them. There. Story over."</p><p>He narrowed his eyes. "Careful with that tongue around the Shah, boy."</p><p>"How do you know I'm a boy and not a man?"</p><p>"How old are you then? Eighteen?"</p><p>Shit. "Yes."</p><p>"A boy, then." Amusement playing at his lips, he took a sip of wine.</p><p>I scowled. "And how do you know I am accepting, old man?"</p><p>"You will be given your own apartments - chambers within the palace. Yours, and no one else's. You will have access to all of the service staff of the palace - access to anything you want. Tell me, Erik, what is it that you want? The Shah will provide it for you - he's said so himself."</p><p>I looked at him for a while, then said the truth: "No one can give me what I want."</p><p>"And what is that?"</p><p>I looked away.</p><p>"What is the worst, really, that could happen?" he asked. "Should you accept and hate it, then you will be dismissed after a year with riches - you could buy a house, if you'd wish, and never work another day in your life, rather than staying at that drab little tavern and playing the role of show-puppet for all of Moscow."</p><p>I whipped my gaze to his. "How did you-"</p><p>"You can't think tonight is the first night I've had eyes on you, can you?"</p><p>I didn't say anything, but pursed my lips. I didn't like that. At all.</p><p>And yet-</p><p>His proposal was tempting. Extremely so.</p><p>And if it was a trap, then I had enough skills at this point to weasel my way out. Easily.</p><p>He turned to flag down a waiter. When the man arrived to the table, he ordered a chicken dish. I chose not to eat tonight. The waiter left us for the kitchen.</p><p>Finally, I said softly, "I have a cat."</p><p>He raised a brow. "A cat."</p><p>"Yes." I lifted my chin. "I go, she comes with me."</p><p>He processed my words for a moment or so, and then grinned. "Any other terms?"</p><p>"I want to be left alone the majority of the time."</p><p>"Of course. The Shah merely expects a performance here and there. Once a night, at most." He folded his fingers in front of him. "Anything else?"</p><p>I paused. "Comfort."</p><p>"The finest clothes, meals, and furnishings will be yours."</p><p>"Then those are my terms. I wish for my cat, privacy, and comfort. In return, I will perform magic and music, maskless, for the Shah's mother."</p><p>The Daroga nodded slow. He raised his glass. I did too.</p><p>He clinked it against mine.</p>
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<a name="section0082"><h2>82. The Reunion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Note: Due to the fact that I decided to have given Papa Daae new clothes and a bath by the time Christine sees him, I changed the word "bedraggled" to "thin" in Ch. 80 :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>My father's exhausted eyes widened as he took me in, his lips agape and trembling on his yellow-bearded face - he was normally clean-shaven with a mustache. As I looked at him, I knew that my own expression mirrored his. That he felt the same incredible shocking relief as me.</p><p>He stood, slowly. His clothes, I noticed, were not his own, but seemed to be Nadir's. And his hair appeared slightly damp. He swallowed. "Christine," he whispered. His arms opened.</p><p>I didn't hesitate. I ran straight into them, sobbing the moment they were around me. I wanted to speak, to say any word at all, but my throat had tightened in the most wonderful sort of way. My father was here.</p><p>He was here.</p><p>Which meant that Ibrahim was right - he hadn't written back. No, he'd found out where I was and came for me himself.</p><p>My Papa had come to rescue me.</p><p>I felt him shaking as he held me. "Christine," he said again, holding back tears. "My Christine - I found you."</p><p>"Papa-" I started, but fresh cries came forth in place of words, and at the sound, he started crying too.</p><p>Somewhere near or far away, I heard Nadir's soft voice: "We shall give you some privacy." I heard three sets of footsteps exit the room, leaving my father and me alone. At some point, he lowered us down to sit on the couch, never removing his arms from around me.</p><p>"I thought you were dead for the longest time," he said, putting a hand now on the back of my head. "When I received the letter-"</p><p>"I thought you died, too." I buried my face in his chest. "They told me you were dead."</p><p>"Who did?"</p><p>"My captors."</p><p>His grip tightened. "Monsieur Khan told me the reason you were brought here." His tone had darkened fractionally. "He said that nothing actually...that nobody..."</p><p>"No one hurt me. Not in the way you are thinking."</p><p>He froze. "In...in another way? Did somebody-"</p><p>"No. No, nobody hurt me. In any way." I could have mentioned that, emotionally, I'd been torn asunder more than several times. But I would keep it to myself.</p><p>He relaxed. "Good."</p><p>As the initial surprise died, it was replaced with warmth. Nothing but warmth. I merely melted into his arms now.</p><p>"I have so many questions," he whispered. "All these months, the life you've been living-"</p><p>"What has Nadir told you?"</p><p>"Only that you were spared from a worse fate; that you are currently taking up residence with the Grand Vizier, a man who has no intention of touching you, as I was assured. That's all."</p><p>So-</p><p>So then he knew nothing of Erik.</p><p>I thought of everything that Erik had done, everything that had transpired between us. I thought of how Erik proposed marriage to me. I flushed, wondering how on Earth I would explain any of that to my father. Wondering if he would even remotely approve.</p><p>A knock sounded at the door. I heard it creak open, and then Ibrahim's voice. "I apologize for interrupting," he said, and I at last, begrudgingly, pulled away to look at the Grand Vizier, "but the Daroga has informed me that supper is ready, should you care for it." He looked at my father. "It is my understanding that you have not eaten in a while."</p><p>I heard my father's stomach growl. He nodded, eyes hungry. He looked at me. "Have you eaten?"</p><p>"She hasn't - not really." Ibrahim smiled. "There is enough for her."</p><p>My father stood. "Good." I stood as well, and he said: "I don't believe we have met."</p><p>"We have not." Ibrahim bowed his head. "I am Ibrahim Jahandir, Grand Vizier to the Shah of Persia."</p><p>The eyes of my father held a sudden expression of wonder and fear as he bowed, lowly, before Ibrahim. "I wasn't - I did not know! Forgive me..."</p><p>"Oh, no, no. Please." Ibrahim ushered him up with a gesture of his hands. He looked at me with an amused smile, and I couldn't help smiling in return. "I appreciate it, but no. It is quite all right. Think of me as another man - forget any titles. I should have said nothing."</p><p>My father stood again, looking dazed. "I apologize. I merely - I am not accustomed to speaking with royalty."</p><p>"Good, because I am not royalty. I advise royalty. Come. Food awaits."</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>I sat next to my father at the table, Ibrahim across from us. Nadir was at the head. I'd asked after Reza, but Nadir informed me that he was already in bed.</p><p>As we settled ourselves in our seats, veal dishes were placed in front of us.</p><p>I actually ate this time. My appetite had returned.</p><p>He consumed the food in silence. As did I, comfortable in his reassuring and familiar presence, merely happy that he was here, alive. I tried to avoid Nadir's piercing gaze as he stared at us with an unreadable expression.</p><p>Ibrahim was eating as well, despite the fact that this would be his second meal tonight. And, apparently, he did not like the wordless table.</p><p>"If only Erik were here," he mused, lifting a fork and examining his meat, "and it would be a true party, yes?" He put the food into his mouth.</p><p>My father raised a single blond brow. "Erik?"</p><p>Ibrahim nodded. Nadir's uncanny expression turned curious as he watched my father.</p><p>"Oh, yes," the Daroga said, "I never did mention him, did I?"</p><p>"Who is Erik?"</p><p>Nadir nodded to me. "That is a question for your daughter."</p><p>I reddened, lowering the fork I currently held, as my father looked at me. "Erik is who I was given to, but-"</p><p>"Given to," he repeated lowly. "As in-"</p><p>"Yes. But he never acted on it. He's been...he's been a gentleman." And, right now, I wouldn't say more than that.</p><p>He did not seem to be satisfied with only this, but at my flushed expression, he understood my need to drop it - not without a warning look that told me that we'd certainly be discussing this later.</p><p>"How long ago did you receive the letter, Monsieur Daae?" inquired Nadir, then. I looked across the table at Ibrahim, who was looking at me with understanding. He too knew what it was to hide a secret lover.</p><p>"A little over three months ago," he replied. "It was signed as anonymous, but there was a return address - here - so I packed immediately. It took me that long to make the journey. I should have arrived sooner, but I had my fair share of run-ins with thieves along the way. I ran out of money quickly, and ended up having to stop in some cities for several nights in order to play for change. I hadn't been sure if bringing my violin was a smart move, but I am glad that I did. I also became quite ill around the time I hit Constantinople, so that cost me about two weeks as well." He gave a small sound that sounded like a cross between a chuckle and a sigh, glancing between Ibrahim and me. "Monsieur Khan can attest to my utter lack of funds or energy by the time I arrived at this house. That letter, really, was the only thing keeping me going. It's still in my pants pocket upstairs - thank you again, Monsieur, for the room." He nodded to Nadir, who smiled and nodded back.</p><p>My heart contracted. He'd endured all of that - hunger, sickness, temporary poverty - for me. To come and get me.</p><p>Ibrahim spoke what was in my chest. "You must love your daughter greatly."</p><p>"I do," he said, turning back to me. His blue eyes matched mine in color and feeling: he could not quite believe I was here with him, that he'd finally reached me. "I love her more than anything. And I love her more than anyone ever will." He reached for my hand, a warm smile on his face. "That is a promise."</p><p>I felt Ibrahim's and Nadir's eyes on me then. I chanced a glance at the two men, and the moment I did, they shared a knowing look.</p><p>I willed them to stay quiet.</p>
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<a name="section0083"><h2>83. The Experiment</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>I was fortunate that Ayesha was more than willing to either be held or walk beside me on the journey from Moscow to Tehran, as I very much did not want to cage her in order to transport her.</p><p>I was also fortunate that the Daroga appeared happy to read his books or talk in Persian to his personal servant, Darius, a quiet young man who didn't much like meeting my eye. I didn't want to talk much. I wanted to get where we were going as swiftly as possible.</p><p>One definite benefit of travelling with a member of the Persian royal court was that we stayed in the grandest inns available. Eyes were narrowed at me, lips thinned, but the Daroga assured them that I was with him, and there was no need to fret.</p><p>Of course, conversations did occur between us.</p><p>On a warm evening, riding in a coach and passing through Krasnodar, Darius had fallen asleep beside Nadir. I noticed the nodding of his head, steady and rhythmic, until he finally rested his tired mind against the wall of the coach. The Daroga caught my eye, and we both found ourselves smirking.</p><p>"He is a loyal servant," Nadir told me quietly. "Sometimes I wonder if I work him too hard."</p><p>"Then don't work him so hard. Simple." I stroked Ayesha as she lay on my lap. She purred.</p><p>"You think everything is that easy, it seems."</p><p>"Nothing is easy."</p><p>He paused, then regarded me strangely. I wanted to look away. "No," he said slowly, "nothing is."</p><p>I looked at Darius again. I had never been able to sleep through the sounds of talking. I envied heavy sleepers like him. Perhaps he truly was worked that hard by the Daroga. By the severe expression Nadir nearly always held, I imagined the Daroga worked hard as well.</p><p>"What is your job, exactly?" I asked him then.</p><p>"In Tehran?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"I oversee police and guards. Above all, I ensure the safety of the Shah."</p><p>"I see," I responded. "And doesn't the Shah fear for his safety while you are away?"</p><p>"He is under the assumption that my absence for a short amount of time will not make a difference. He still has his guards."</p><p>"And will it make a difference?"</p><p>"Are you asking if he in more danger now that I am not there? Possibly. But I have spies looking for suspicious activity. Normally, they report to me - but I have tasked the captain of the guard with checking for letters of importance left by my spies in my study. The captain will be dismissed of these particular duties once I return."</p><p>I raised a brow. "Does the Shah know of your spies?"</p><p>"He believes that I've enlisted some of the guards and servants. That is what the captain believes as well. That I have a secret select group of men and women interwoven with staff, listening and watching. I think, actually, that this is the common belief throughout the palace - throughout Tehran.</p><p>The way he said "the common belief" made it very much sound as though this were not the case.</p><p>But before I could question him on that fact, he spoke again:</p><p>"And you, Erik. What do you do? Other than sing and do magic. Do you have any other special skills?"</p><p>"I am an excellent thief."</p><p>Nadir glanced down at his pocket momentarily before saying, "Good to know."</p><p>"And I have a love for engineering."</p><p>He cocked his head. "Engineering?"</p><p>"Yes. Building things. Making things work."</p><p>"Inventions."</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"Have you ever invented anything?"</p><p>"No, but I have drafts of inventions,' I said, suddenly...gleeful, almost, at finally being able to express this part of me, out loud, after so long. "I have ideas for automatons and self-regulating machines. I've come up with the idea of a little doll that can play violin on its own. I've-"</p><p>"I've studied a bit of engineering myself," he interrupted. "I never could quite get the hang of it. But one idea I had - just a hypothetical one, you see, don't be alarmed - is the idea of a mechanical torture chamber."</p><p>I frowned. "I see."</p><p>He paused, looking at my troubled expression, and then laughed softly. "Again, don't be alarmed. It is only an idea - and one, really, that I've only considered due to my occupation. Torture is not out of the question for the chief of police, you see, especially when the Shah demands it."</p><p>"Does he demand torture often?"</p><p>"Oh yes."</p><p>A feeling of unease grew within me. I wondered momentarily what, exactly, I had signed up for.</p><p>As Nadir continued watching me, I saw his mind working. Cogs turning. Ideas forming.</p><p>"Erik," he said slowly, "if you were to invent a torture chamber, one that truly caused the most pain, how would you do it?" He paused. "Hypothetically speaking, of course."</p><p>I instinctually leaned back, away from him. "A rather disturbing question, don't you think?"</p><p>He smiled. "A thought experiment."</p><p>All right. Fine.</p><p>I suppose I had nothing better to do.</p><p>If I had to create a torture chamber, what would I include in it? What did I consider painful? What is one thing that sent shivers of grief and rage and disgust down my spine, at the mere sight of it?</p><p>"Mirrors," I said, looking away from him. "It would have mirrors."</p>
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<a name="section0084"><h2>84. The Explanation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>After dinner, I went up to the room Nadir had given my father. At my troubled expression upon leaving my chair, the Daroga assured me that the Shah did not know of his arrival here - and if he did find out, Nadir would lie and say that Gustave was merely an old musician friend, come to stay in Tehran for a while. No connection to Christine would be mentioned.</p><p>That hadn't been what was troubling me, but it was excellent to know. I felt grateful to Nadir for what he was doing for my father - a very confusing thing. My feelings about Nadir were perpetually confusing.</p><p>We ascended the stairs, me behind my father. I noticed that he was walking a bit slower, that it seemed to take him a bit more effort than usual to climb. His breath came in and out roughly, his lungs like bellows.</p><p>Nadir had explained to him that I couldn't leave right away - that there was business that had to be taken care of before it was safe for me to go. He said that he would explain more in the morning - and though my father had frowned and protested lightly, he didn't fight for long. He merely asked how much time it would take. The Daroga was unsure, but said that, hopefully, it wouldn't be much longer. My father nodded and relented that as long as I was safe - and he did ask after the certainty of my safety - it might do him good to rest for a while. He'd looked at me in concern, ensuring that this plan was all right by me. I'd nodded. I told him that I was willing to wait - had been willing to wait for a long time. That his presence was genuinely good enough for the time being.</p><p>I was surprised by how quickly my father was to trust these strangers. But after the journey he'd had, and due to the fact that they were currently his only chance at bringing me back to France, it only made sense that he'd push aside any reservations. My lack of fear around them likely helped his willingness to put our fates in their hands.</p><p>At the top of the steps, he paused, putting a hand to his chest. He breathed in once deeply, and exhaled as well. There was deliberateness to it, as though he were trying to lower his heart rate.</p><p>I came to stand beside him, putting a hand on his arm. He was in his early forties now, but he'd never been winded this quickly. "Are you all right?" I asked him.</p><p>He opened his eyes and smiled at me with love. He patted my hand. "Yes. I'm fine. Just tired. Extremely tired."</p><p>I nodded and walked with him to the room Nadir had given him. When we arrived, I helped him get settled in.</p><p>"It's a wonder," he said, as he placed his cased violin in the wide bottom drawer of the dresser, "that this lifesaver was not stolen from me." He sighed, a quirk in his lips. "It's those sorts of things that make me believe in miracles. Divine intervention."</p><p>I looked down at the bag of clothing on the floor. Dirty. All dirty. They'd been cleaned tonight and returned to him tomorrow. My father was given nightclothes to sleep in by Nadir.</p><p>"I can't believe you came all this way, Papa," I said softly, and looked at him where he stood by the dresser. "What if this had been a trap? What if I wasn't really here?"</p><p>"That was a risk I was willing to take," he answered. "Christine, you mean more to me than anything. There was no chance in Hell that, upon seeing that you were alive somewhere in the world, I would not have come to find you."</p><p>A lump formed in my throat. He saw the change in my countenance and went to me. He held me tightly. I hugged him back.</p><p>At last he pulled away. When he did, something at my collar caught his eye. He raised a brow and pulled at a thin chain around my neck, bringing the necklace's pendant out from beneath my clothes into full view.</p><p>He sucked in a breath. "That is-" He looked at me. "Who gave this to you?"</p><p>There was little point in lying. "Erik."</p><p>"The man you were given to."</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>He paused. "You said he was kind?"</p><p>I nodded.</p><p>He glanced back down at the necklace shortly. "What...Christine, what exactly is your relationship to him?"</p><p>I blushed. "I... Let's sit down."</p><p>He agreed. We went to his bed and sat side by side.</p><p>"Don't..." I started softly, looking at the floor as I felt his eyes on me. "Don't be upset."</p><p>"Why would I be upset?"</p><p>"Because... I..."</p><p>"Does this man have feelings for you? Is that why he gave you that piece of jewelry?"</p><p>I hesitated, but nodded.</p><p>"And...do you..."</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>A long silence.</p><p>"You love him."</p><p>I brought my head up and down slowly.</p><p>"Hm." He shifted slightly.</p><p>"He never wanted to...use me in the way he was supposed to," I explained. "He wanted to send me home. He's the one, actually, that wrote the letter to you."</p><p>"Not Monsieur Khan?"</p><p>"No. He only sent it. It was Erik's idea to send me back to France."</p><p>"I see."</p><p>"And I wasn't planning on falling in love with him - but he has been so kind, Papa. And he is intelligent - and music! He plays music as well-"</p><p>"Erik," he said softly. "I thought it was a European name. That is a Persian name as well?"</p><p>"No." I looked at him at last. There was curious concern on his face. "No, he is French. Only a year or two older than me."</p><p>He narrowed his eyes. "And what is his role here, exactly, if the Shah granted you as a gift to him?</p><p>I wanted, then, to sink into the bed. I thought about lying, but the truth was bound to come out at some point. "He is an executioner." My voice was small.</p><p>His eyes darkened. "A killer."</p><p>"He doesn't want to be."</p><p>"You are in love with a killer, Christine?"</p><p>"No, Papa." I stood and faced him. "No, he doesn't want to be. Just like I don't want to be a concubine. It wasn't his choice."</p><p>"No, there is a choice. He could say no to killing."</p><p>"And be punished himself, while those he killed would be executed anyway - likely in a crueler way. At least when he kills, he makes it quick." My heartrate heightened. "I was given an impossible choice as well - give my body away or die."</p><p>He grimaced, disgust tightening his every muscle. "It's different."</p><p>"It's not." I exhaled sharply. "And for a fact, Erik did say no, recently, to the last execution. He was tasked with killing another Flower - one of the girls like me - and he said no. He wouldn't do it. He doesn't want to do it anymore - he never did. And now he's...he-"</p><p>Tears sprang to my eyes. I wiped them away.</p><p>His gaze softened. "He's what?"</p><p>"He's being held in a prison for it. In a cage. And what's worse is that he was imprisoned as a child, so I can't even imagine..." Realization slammed into me. I widened my eyes at him. "Papa, I think you may have met him. I drew a picture of you - he saw it and he says that he might know who you are."</p><p>"When would I have met him?"</p><p>"When he was a boy. He performed in a travelling show. His face is...it looks like death. And you tried to save him. Is that something you remember?"</p><p>He blinked and looked away, and I saw in his dumbfounded face the answer to my question before he said, "Yes. I remember that." He swallowed. "You say he does not want to kill."</p><p>"He doesn't."</p><p>"He was forced into it?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>There was still an ocean of doubt lapping at the shores of his eyes. "I'd like to meet this man."</p>
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<a name="section0085"><h2>85. The Flower</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Edit: Had a great question in the reviews of this chapter over on FF.net - they were confused about the time and place in which Erik is telling his story to Christine. This will be revealed later, when their timelines completely converge :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>I have told you everything I can, Christine, of my life. Everything I have deemed important for you to know and understand.</p><p>And I do not very much want to relay what transpired between my arrival in Persia and meeting you. But I will. I will keep it brief.</p><p>The moment I stepped foot in Persia, I was taken to meet the Shah. The Khanum. Ibrahim.</p><p>I began performing magic for the Khanum. And it was nothing new - I'd been doing this work for months. Magic and singing.</p><p>I also met Reza - and I cared for him immensely. The fact that he could not see meant that he was forced to know me for me, with no preconceived notions of what my face might tell him. It also meant that he was immune to my curse - if he could not see my appearance, then my appearance could not kill him.</p><p>To show my affection for him, I created a mechanical doll that could play violin - the key to make it work was to clap. And Reza loved it. It had been the first time in a long time that I felt joy at another human's presence.</p><p>Of course, I still had Ayesha. And of course, I demanded that she be given a diamond collar. A crown fit for a queen.</p><p>Life was peaceful for a couple of months, but it wasn't long before the Daroga found the automaton, found out exactly how skilled in engineering I was. It wasn't long before he came to me and told me what he intended.</p><p>His plans to kill the Shah - but not just to kill him. To torture him until he begged for death.</p><p>He was the one to come up with the Chamber. He was the one to suggest it to the Shah.</p><p>And when he told me what the Shah did to his wife, I felt just as much rage as Nadir. In that moment, upon hearing that I could create something to kill this cruel Shah, I agreed to make the Chamber. Only Nadir and myself - and later Ibrahim and the Prince - were aware of who the Chamber was meant to kill. The Daroga assured me that I would only need to build it - that I would not be in attendance for the death.</p><p>It was around this time that the Khanum grew bored. When she learned I was building the Chamber, her intrigue was piqued, and she demanded that I, too, entertain her with death. Replace music with blood.</p><p>And you know what happened then, don't you?</p><p>Well, I was absolutely stricken with anger at the idea. At the thought of killing dozens if not hundreds of men and women, I informed the Daroga that I wanted to quit. That I would be terminating my time here early.</p><p>He told me that I could not. That my leaving would result in Reza's death - it would be seen as a failure on the Daroga's part that he "lost" the thing he brought to Persia - and it would result in my own death as well.</p><p>I went back to my chambers and screamed in grief.</p><p>I would not kill Reza.</p><p>And I would not die that way.</p><p>I promised my family that I would stay alive. I swore that if I died, it would be for something bigger than myself - and I learned, too, that these men and women that I'd kill would be executed regardless, and in a much more painful way, so what would my death really change? At least I could make their deaths easy - as easy as I could.</p><p>So I stayed.</p><p>And then came the news that the Shah wanted the Chamber to not just torture, but act as a sort of game. A competition. Should one man commit suicide within the Chamber, the other would be set free - and it would only work if two men entered. Thus, to kill the Shah, someone would have to enter the Chamber with him and have a strong enough will not to give up. We considered, of course, simply building the Chamber so that only one man was needed for it to work, regardless of what the Shah wanted. He was the one we'd be killing, anyway. But we knew that the Shah may want to test it first - and disappointing him was not wise.</p><p>I volunteered to enter the Chamber. This. This was bigger than me. Killing a tyrant was certainly worthy of my death. And how poetic, really - the captain, after all, must always go down with the ship. And if I survived, then I would at last be free to leave.</p><p>We also knew that it would have to self-regulate. Work on its own. No levers to start and stop it, lest someone should attempt to end the torture prematurely. So we - I - set to work. The Khanum, of course, could become a problem if she caught wind of our plan somehow. I ensured as best I could that she did not interfere.</p><p>But as one year turned into two - long past the length of time I was told I'd be in Persia - the more life weighed me down. The first time I killed, I vomited. The second and third time, too. My mind eventually grew used to it, yes, but my heart never did. And I could never, ever catch a breath.</p><p>Until you, Christine.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>It was two years to the day that I'd first come to Tehran, when a knock sounded at my door.</p><p>I had been working on the Chamber, of course. Planning for executions never took too long, so most of my time was devoted to the Chamber. The sooner I created it, the sooner I would be free from my bonds here.</p><p>I put down my pen and went to the door. Too early for dinner. Perhaps it was Ibrahim come to take up my time.</p><p>I opened it wide. Not Ibrahim. The Daroga, surrounded by three other people.</p><p>"Nadir," I said lazily, trailing my gaze past him and over his entourage, "I am working, so unless this is-"</p><p>The words stopped in my throat. Next to him was a girl, scantily-clad and beautiful beyond reason.</p><p>You.</p><p>The Daroga cleared his throat, and in a tone that implied this was a speech given directly from the Shah, told me, "The Shah would like to thank you for your service, for all you have done for his and his mother's entertainment these past few years. I present to you the Rose, a Flower from the Garden. The gift of a wife. The Shah hopes that you enjoy her, and he is pleased at your immense gratitude for this most prized gift."</p><p>My eyes never left you. The entire time, I merely watched as you held my gaze behind that transparent veil. Afraid. So afraid of me. So afraid of what I would do to you. Of course I knew of the Garden. Everyone in Persia knew of the barbaric Garden. As I listened to the Daroga speak, anger grew in me.</p><p>The moment the small speech was over, that anger had turned to a blaze. I turned to the eunuchs, as I now knew them to be.</p><p>"Bring her forward," I said. Even I could hear the harshness in my tone. You cringed, so slightly I'm not sure it was intentional, but the eunuchs pushed you toward me. And I wanted to be gentle - to be kind. But I was so fiery, so furious on your behalf, that I knew I looked cruel.</p><p>I moved the veil over your head to see your face more clearly. "What is your name?" I asked.</p><p>You merely stared back, eyes wide, opening and closing your mouth.</p><p>I narrowed my own eyes and tried again. "What is your name?"</p><p>One of the eunuchs whispered behind you, in French, "Your name."</p><p>Relief entered your eyes. "Christine."</p><p>French. You were French. I looked between you and the eunuch and stated as much.</p><p>You confirmed it.</p><p>That fire blazed even hotter. I whipped my gaze to the Daroga. "Do you mean to tell me that this girl was taken from her home in France and brought here to be a toy?" It was obvious. I didn't have to question that fact - of course you were taken. You were a Flower. But I wanted to make Nadir squirm. It wasn't his fault, but he was currently the closest thing I had to the Shah.</p><p>To my satisfaction, Nadir did appear uncomfortable, feet shifting, before saying, "She was." He was just as disgusted by the Garden as I was.</p><p>Taken. Held against your will. Used. I knew what all of that was like, and I would not put you through that. "Apologies to the Shah, Daroga, but I will not be accepting his gift. I have no need for kidnapped sex-slaves."</p><p>I turned to you to tell you this in French. Your shock at my knowledge of the language would have amused me had I not been full of rage.</p><p>I began closing the door in all of your faces when the Daroga told me, "She will be put to death should you not accept. You will be punished as well."</p><p>I whirled on him. "Excuse me?"</p><p>"She will be put to death," he repeated, "and before you ask - yes, you will likely be the one to kill her."</p><p>My gaze went to you, at your still-staring blue eyes. I tried to clear the irritation from my expression and tone, tried to be soft instead, but it didn't work. "My dear," I said, "do you understand the duties that you were brought here to perform?"</p><p>"Yes." You looked so utterly disgusted and frightened that I wanted to slam my fist into the wall.</p><p>"Very well." Perhaps if you yourself chose death over me, refused to enter my chambers, then it would not be my fault that you died. It would be...it would be yours. My hands would be clean. Perhaps it would prevent the Shah from gifting me such a present in the future as well. "I have seen your face. Come forward, remove my mask, and see mine."</p><p>For a moment, I thought you would refuse. Surely you'd heard of the horrors of my visage by now. But you found the courage, somehow, and removed the mask from my face. Your reaction of terror was not a surprise. I'd expected it. I always expected it.</p><p>"Were you informed of the consequences if you do not complete the duties that you were ordered to perform?" I asked you.</p><p>"Death," you whispered.</p><p>"Yes," I agreed. "That is what our friend the Daroga just told me. Now, I am trying to prove a point to the Shah, that his gift is wasted on me. Tell me, my dear Christine, wouldn't you rather die than lay with me?"</p><p>I'd expected an immediate yes. That your yes would come with a refusal to enter my rooms, with you falling to the floor in tears, begging to be taken away, to be put out of your misery. But you didn't say yes. You blinked, thinking, and responded, instead, "No. I wouldn't rather die."</p><p>I froze.</p><p>Of course, I knew, this didn't necessarily mean you wanted to share my bed. It didn't mean that at all. It merely meant that I was preferable to death. Which meant that you would enter my chambers if beckoned. Which meant that turning you away would most certainly be my decision - your death would be on my hands.</p><p>What a terrible bind you put me in, Christine.</p><p>I could not return you to the Shah now.</p><p>So I took back my mask, turned to the Daroga, and requested a second bed. A dresser. Clothes.</p><p>And I turned to you, still wide-eyed and frightened and alone.</p><p>I felt, in that moment, the need to protect you. I felt, as the Daroga and eunuchs left us alone, that your safety was now my responsibility.</p><p>"I suppose," I said to you softly, "I should introduce myself. My name is Erik."</p>
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<a name="section0086"><h2>86. The Tremors</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Note: Had a great question in the reviews of last chapter on FF.net - they were confused about the time and place in which Erik is telling his story to Christine. This will be revealed later, when their timelines completely converge :) I've added this note to the previous chapter as well.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>Ibrahim and Nadir allowed me to stay the night. If anyone asked why I was spending the quiet, dark hours at the Daroga's house, they would explain that Nadir was merely borrowing me. My father overheard this and blanched, but said nothing.</p><p>Long past midnight, he and I sat in his room, talking. Not about what I'd been through, what he'd been through - neither one of us wanted to talk about that now. We talked about life before Persia. We talked about Paris. The things we missed. The things we couldn't wait to get back to.</p><p>If that day every came. It seemed as though it never would.</p><p>And what was more, I hoped and silently prayed that Erik would be a part of that future back west.</p><p>At a certain point, my father took out his violin. If he disturbed Nadir or Reza or any of the servants, no one came to request he quiet down. He played freely. Either Nadir's walls were quite thick, or he didn't want to disturb our peace.</p><p>As he made music, I sang.</p><p>When he heard my voice, he stared with rounded eyes, ceasing his playing. "Where did you learn to sing like that, Christine?"</p><p>I smiled softly. "Erik taught me."</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>I was awoken at dawn, in another room that had been given to me for the night. I'd only slept a few hours, and as far as I knew, my father was still asleep. But Nadir knocked on my door, and when I opened it, I saw Ibrahim behind him. There was a look of genuine happiness on the Grand Vizier's face. Even Nadir looked relieved.</p><p>"What is it?" I asked, stifling a yawn, trying to wake up fully.</p><p>"Dress, Christine," said Nadir. "Erik has been released, and is waiting for you in his chambers."</p><p>My eyes went wide and I closed the door in their faces, rushing to my dresser. Nadir made an indignant sound at the rudeness of it, while Ibrahim laughed loudly. I myself found giggles escaping me. He was free. Erik was finally free. I was quick to put on day clothes, to brush my hair, and open the door once again. Nadir was gone now, leaving only Ibrahim waiting for me. He nodded, smiling.</p><p>"Would you like to bid your father goodbye for the day?" he asked.</p><p>"Yes," I said softly. "Yes, of course."</p><p>As we passed his room, I knocked on the door.</p><p>"Yes?" I heard his groggy voice from beyond.</p><p>"It's Christine, Papa."</p><p>From the other side, I heard him leave his bed and come to the door. He unlocked it and opened it, revealing a tired-looking Gustave Daae.</p><p>"Christine, you're dressed," he observed. He saw Ibrahim as well, then looked down at his own nightclothes. "Is it breakfast? I will dress as well."</p><p>"No - there might be breakfast. But I have to leave-"</p><p>"Leave?" He frowned. "Leave where?"</p><p>"Back to the palace," I explained, shrinking a bit under his look of unhappiness. "Erik has - he's been released."</p><p>He nodded slowly. Then: "Bring him here tonight, if you can." At his glance at Ibrahim, I knew it was as much a question as a command.</p><p>Ibrahim gave him a charming smile. "So long as he is willing, I see no issue with this."</p><p>I hugged my father goodbye and kissed his cheek, but not before I noticed his eyes narrow a bit at "willing", no doubt feeling that this "Erik person" had better be willing to meet him.</p><p>Seeing as Erik had been more than willing to charm his daughter all these months.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>I walked back to Erik's chambers the same way I'd walked to Nadir's house. Jittery. Buzzing. Unsure what to expect.</p><p>When we arrived at the door to Erik's rooms, Ibrahim took his keys from his pockets and unlocked it. He opened the door.</p><p>The first thing I saw was Ayesha, who'd apparently been brought here by Ibrahim before he'd come to retrieve me, extremely early in the morning. She meowed as we stepped inside, rubbing against our legs. My bags were on the floor as well.</p><p>Then I saw Erik. He was sitting on the couch, mask off. He looked as though he was freshly washed, in new clothes. But his already sunken-eyes looked somehow even more tired, distant, hurting.</p><p>When they found me, they shone. He stood, slowly.</p><p>I ran to him, and he caught me.</p><p>I'd been the one to begin crying first when I at last held my father. This time, Erik was the one to let out a sob.</p><p>"I love you." His voice held tremors. His entire body did. "I love you. I never want to be parted from you again. Christine-"</p><p>"I'm right here," I whispered, but tears were forming in my eyes as well. "I won't let you go."</p><p>He held on tighter.</p><p>"Are you all right?" I asked him. "Are you...do you..."</p><p>"I survived," he breathed. "The only thing that kept me alive was you. The knowledge that I'd see you." He ran a hand through my hair. "There were times when I felt myself losing my mind, but I'd imagine you were there with me, and I would return to myself. And I found the will to finish the-" He trailed off.</p><p>"The Chamber?" I finished. "You finished it?"</p><p>"Yes. The plans are in the hands of the Shah now. He is having his best men build it. It will be placed within Mirror Hall. The heat will stay within the Chamber - it won't roast the rest of the room."</p><p>I didn't want to talk about the Chamber. I didn't comment or ask any questions.</p><p>"I couldn't eat or sleep with you gone," I told him instead. "I was too worried. I didn't know if you were being hurt, or starved, or-" I took a shuddering breath.</p><p>"Oh, my love." He kissed the top of my head. "I was unharmed. Captive, but unharmed."</p><p>I nodded into him. The smell of pine wafted soothingly into my nose. I sighed.</p><p>I was aware of Ibrahim still behind me, and apparently so was Erik. I felt him shift, knew that he was looking at the Grand Vizier. "Thank you, my friend. For everything."</p><p>"Of course."</p><p>As I felt Erik continue running his hand through my hair, over my back, I finally told him what else was currently on my mind: "My father arrived, Erik."</p><p>He stiffened. "What?"</p><p>"My father." I pulled away, looking at his wide eyes. "He's here."</p><p>"How-"</p><p>"When he got the letter, he came rather than write back. He's here. And he...he wants to meet you."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey everyone! I don't normally do this, but there are a lot more readers than reviewers. Can you guys let me know if you're enjoying the story, if possible? I appreciate those of you who do leave feedback!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0087"><h2>87. The Poisoning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>Even as I informed you that I planned to send you home, you remained frightened.</p><p>I told you that you could go to France with no issue, given an escort. The Daroga agreed, though he did remind me that the Shah would best be dead before I sent you to Paris. That it was advised that I finish the Chamber before your father's response came, so that you could go home as soon as possible. That the Shah would not be pleased if you were sent, should he find out. Which he most certainly would.</p><p>Of course, if I recall correctly, Nadir didn't tell you this. He merely relayed his feelings that it was best if you wait for your father's return letter, to ensure you had a home to go back to. You now know that wasn't the full reason for his insistence that you wait.</p><p>I left you alone while I performed an execution. A boy of fourteen, a servant, would be killed for stealing food from the kitchen. It was one of those killings that genuinely broke down your soul. But of course I had to keep my emotions inside. Of course I could not show remorse or grief.</p><p>Not until I came home.</p><p>I ranted and raved in Russian to Ayesha about it - the unfairness of it. And I sensed you leave your room. I beckoned you to sit with me - attempted to explain myself and my role here to you. But that fear returned, and I could not handle that look from you. Not when I myself was hurting. So I went to bed, and you did too.</p><p>The next morning, I went into the study to work, but stayed quiet so as not to wake you. Only when you awoke on your own did I make my presence know. And when I told you that you snore - no, Christine, you don't - your proud indignance was actually a delight. But you backed down again, and I was disappointed. I thought, for a moment, that you no longer feared me.</p><p>Then came the news that you'd have to attend an execution - this time for the entertainment of the Shah. I didn't want you to go. You already hated me. You already looked at me with terror and disgust, and this would merely be a step backwards.</p><p>At that dinner, I watched you as I poured from the teapot. I watched your fear turn to wonder at the magic. And I wondered myself if that was the key to quelling your desire to hide from me - show you what beautiful and marvelous things I could do with my hands. With my voice. It was worth a try, I thought, as I poured your tea. I had time to find out.</p><p>And then the time arrived for the victim to die. I watched your reaction as you watched him writhe and vomit and wither away to death. I watched you whiten, watched your nausea as you saw that no one - not a soul except yourself - was visibly affected by this murder. I watched as you stared down at the meal placed before you, wanting to scream or run or throw your food across the room - anything but eat.</p><p>I took pity - no. I held compassion.</p><p>'It helps if you nibble,' I whispered in your ear.</p><p>I don't think you quite knew that it was me - but you clearly heard it. You looked up with a gasp, then quickly looked back down.</p><p>So alone. So frightened.</p><p>I continued watching you and said, 'You don't have to eat everything, my dear. Take very small bites and wash each down with tea.'</p><p>I knew, of course, to do this from years of eating when I felt my stomach could not take a single crumb inside of it.</p><p>You did as I suggested, the first indication that, on some level, you trusted me. I felt warmth - sunshine peeking through the incessant dark clouds. That urge to protect you grew.</p><p>'Good,' I whispered, 'keep doing that. I can keep talking to you if you'd like, or I can stop. Eat chicken next if you'd like me to continue, and eat rice if you'd like me to leave you be.'</p><p>I silently hoped you'd choose the chicken. You did. Immediately.</p><p>I had to stop the smile that begged to show itself.</p><p>'All right.' I ate some chicken as well, if at least to show you I was with you. I would be with you through this. I wanted to ease your worry, your suffering, as I wished someone would do for me. I said, 'I have to admit something to you.'</p><p>You glanced at me, curious. I liked your curiosity, I still like it, even if I gave you nothing but grief for it.</p><p>'The thing is, Christine,' I said slowly, 'that you do snore. Terribly. I could barely focus this morning between the sounds of a grizzly bear growling in the woods for its next catch.'</p><p>I saw in your face your shock. Replacing your fear. Excellent.</p><p>I continued, 'I mean Dear Lord, Christine. You really must have your throat examined. I think you may have a ravenous lion trapped in there.'</p><p>And when I glanced at you next, you'd relaxed. When you looked at me again, that terror was gone.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>I'd taken you home, held your hair as you vomited. You let me. You let me take the lead in telling you how to feel better - drink some water, climb into bed. All the while, I sensed that you now felt safe with me - safer, at least, than you did before.</p><p>The next morning, when I left the bathing room and you entered it, I noticed a look of brief pleasure at my smell - pine. I'd only used the soap once, but now that I knew you liked it, I would continue using it. I didn't care for it much - I didn't hate it, either - but I wanted to do anything I could if it meant you looked at me with any amount of goodness.</p><p>Forgive me for it. I didn't know, but I was falling for you even then.</p><p>We sat for breakfast, and to my relief, you did not shrink away from me. You didn't avert your eyes or widen them. You sat with me as though I were just another man.</p><p>And then you became lightheaded. I checked your pulse, finding it fast and faint.</p><p>I realized you'd been poisoned.</p><p>You collapsed into my arms.</p><p>And if I'd believed in God, I would have cursed him for taking yet another away from me.</p><p>For refusing to hear my prayer those years ago.</p><p>For chewing up and spitting that prayer right back in my forsaken face.</p>
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<a name="section0088"><h2>88. The Introduction</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>Erik agreed to meet my father - but he didn't want to do so right away.</p><p>We'd go tonight.</p><p>He wanted to spend the next twelve hours alone with me. Close. Uninterrupted.</p><p>After breakfast, we went to bed and prepared to make love (as I tried not to think what my father would say if he found out) - but he lasted perhaps five minutes before he went soft. The rest of him, however, became rigid. His breath shuddered and tears formed in the corners of his eyes. He came out of me and laid down to my side. I held his shaking hands, alarmed.</p><p>"Erik?"</p><p>"I apologize," he whispered. "I will try to-"</p><p>"Don't be sorry." My hand moved to his cheek, and he placed his quivering fingers over mine.</p><p>He sighed, but his tears fell. "I keep thinking about those cell bars. I'm not there anymore - I'm here with you - but I can't stop thinking I'll blink and be trapped once more. That I'm not done with the Chamber. Or that, even worse, I will awake and be a child again, in a cage-"</p><p>"You're not." I ran my thumb over his cheek. He closed his eyes. I didn't blame him for his emotions - if I'd spent a month in a cell, I'd be a wreck as well, even without the past he had behind him. "This is real. I'm real."</p><p>He swallowed. "And you're the only thing that matters."</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>The entire day, we didn't leave the bed. We laid on our backs, holding hands, completely naked, covered by the blanket. Ayesha, not to be left out, curled up on the foot of the mattress. Every so often, Erik would pull me close and kiss me deeply, or hold me tightly against him. Never, though, did he ever let go of my hands or face or waist - except to relieve himself or bring tea and the midday meal in. Even then, he seemed loath to let me go.</p><p>I tried to stay awake for his benefit - but I'd gone to bed so late and awoken so early, and I was so contented and comfortable in his arms, that I was drifting in and out of consciousness.</p><p>"I'm sorry, Erik," I murmured into his chest. "I keep falling asleep."</p><p>"Then sleep," he said gently. At the love in his tone, I nuzzled in deeper.</p><p>And when night fell, Erik kissed me into wakefulness. Not on my lips - on my forehead. He kissed me long and purposefully, as though he couldn't believe he had me again. As though he were terrified to lose me.</p><p>"My love," he whispered, "it's time to wake up."</p><p>My eyelids fluttered open. "Hm?"</p><p>"I believe your father expects to meet me."</p><p>I shifted my face so that I was looking at him. In the dull candlelight, I could see fear in his eyes. Trepidation. Worry.</p><p>I knew why.</p><p>"He will love you," I assured him, against my own uncertainty.</p><p>He gave a short laugh, humorless. "I never thought I'd be in this position."</p><p>"What position?"</p><p>He held my gaze. "Meeting the father of the girl I love." He pushed a stray curl from my face with extreme tenderness. "Asking for his blessing."</p><p>Adoration painted my cheeks pink. He smiled at the blush, kissed my face.</p><p>He was first to get up. I followed. We dressed. Erik pet Ayesha and pressed his lips to her small forehead. "We will return soon, darling," he told her.</p><p>And we made our way to Echo Hall. We set out so that Erik, the Shah's executioner, could meet Gustave Daae, my father, in the hopes of winning his approval.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>Through Nadir's study. Into the house's large hall. We heard voices coming from the living room. We made our way there. I could hear Erik's harsh breath beside me, his stiff gait. I squeezed his hand, and he softened fractionally. He gave me a grateful look, nodded, and stepped into the room with me beside him.</p><p>Nadir saw us first. "Christine. Erik."</p><p>Reza, on the couch next to him, brightened. "Erik is here?"</p><p>Erik's posture relaxed further. I noticed that he still hadn't looked at my father. He was gazing at Reza. "I am."</p><p>Reza went from his seat and ran, recklessly, into the direction of Erik's voice - just as he'd done the first time I met him. Erik grinned and scooped him up, putting him on his shoulders.</p><p>"Christine's father is here!" the boy explained.</p><p>And at that, both Erik and I found my father's gaze. He was sitting in an armchair, watching Erik with an uncanny expression.</p><p>"You're Erik," he said.</p><p>Erik's smile disappeared. He nodded.</p><p>Nadir's eyes were trailing slowly over all of us. He stood and went to his son as he sat on Erik's shoulders. "Come, Reza. It's time for your bath."</p><p>Reza made a face of disgust. "But Erik just now arrived!"</p><p>"Life is inconvenient sometimes, Reza. Hold your arms out."</p><p>He hesitated only a moment, then relented and held out his hands. His father picked him up off of Erik's shoulders, with Erik assisting in the transfer. Nadir carried his boy from the room, closing the door behind him.</p><p>There was a moment of silence. Uncomfortable silence, as my father and Erik stared each other in the eyes. I was about to break it, when my father at last spoke:</p><p>"That boy seems to care for you."</p><p>"Thank you," Erik responded softly. "I care for him too."</p><p>"And," he said, "you care for my daughter?"</p><p>Erik's shoulders loosened. He held his head a bit higher. "Yes, sir."</p><p>My lips quirked. I imagined how this scene would look to any outsider. My father, the quiet violinist, being called 'sir' by the Angel of Death.</p><p>Another long stretch of silence.</p><p>My father at last stood. "Erik, do you remember me?"</p><p>Erik stared, no indication of an answer on his masked expression.</p><p>"Because," my father continued, "I remember you. A bit taller than when I last met you. But I remember those eyes. And if you'd remove your mask, I'm sure I would remember your face - if, of course, you would be so kind."</p><p>Slowly, very gradually, Erik reached up to his face. He removed his mask. I saw shock in his expression when my father did not flinch.</p><p>I myself was surprised - but not by the lack of reaction. I was surprised that Erik removed his mask so easily to him. But I saw curiosity and vulnerability in his gaze, and knew that he would do what he could to gain approval. His face might not entice my father, but his willingness to oblige would.</p><p>He nodded at Erik. "Yes. I remember you." He asked again, "Do you remember me?"</p><p>"Yes, sir." Erik's voice was hoarse. "I do."</p><p>My father glanced at me shortly. "It would seem that you were meant to be in our lives, Erik, if God tried twice."</p><p>Erik looked stricken by that. He blinked. "Sir?"</p><p>"Well, I attempted to take you home with me that day. But you didn't come. And now we are here, and Christine was put into your care, to which you chose not to take advantage." He looked at me. "And she doesn't seem to be lying about that fact. Doesn't seem to be afraid. She seems herself, not what I would expect if she was being abused." He paused. "So, yes, it would seem that God has gone to great lengths to pull you into our hearth."</p><p>Erik swallowed. His eyes shone.</p><p>"Christine tells me of your occupation here. She tells me you would choose not to if given the choice."</p><p>"Yes, sir. That's true."</p><p>"She says you were imprisoned for refusing to take a life."</p><p>"Yes, sir."</p><p>He nodded. "And Monsieur Khan informed me of why we will need to wait to return home."</p><p>I finally spoke. "What did he tell you?"</p><p>"Everything." He smiled ruefully. "Quite the plot you've gotten yourselves wrapped up in." He blinked. "Speaking of which - Erik."</p><p>"Yes?"</p><p>My father's smile turned genuine. "Is 'yes' the only word you know, Erik?"</p><p>Erik smiled back. "No."</p><p>My father laughed very shortly. "Very well, then - by the way, do you have a family name?"</p><p>"Perrault," he said immediately.</p><p>"Monsieur Perrault," he nodded. "I recall reading, eight or so years ago, that a religious zealot in Lyon killed that man - Javert. Monsieur Benoit. He claimed he killed the boy - the attraction. The dog too."</p><p>Erik's eyes widened, but didn't look surprised.</p><p>"He even confessed to it unprompted," he continued. "That man has been put in prison for murder, and will be locked away for the rest of his life." He studied Erik. "Did you see it happen?"</p><p>"No, sir." Erik's throat sounded dry.</p><p>"Did it happen at all?"</p><p>Erik took a beat. "Which part?"</p><p>"Any part."</p><p>Another beat. "Javert was murdered."</p><p>"But the zealot didn't do it?"</p><p>Erik's hands clenched into fists at his side, but I could see him forcing his expression into neutrality.</p><p>My father nodded and sat down again. We remained standing. He said, "I had a feeling. All these years, I had a feeling. And I think I would have killed him too, had I been in your situation."</p><p>Erik's mouth opened marginally. "Sir-"</p><p>"Fear not," he assured him, "the entirety of France thinks you're dead - or escaped, since your body was never found. Very few believe you guilty - and those that do are brushed off as theorizing conspiracies. So even if I said anything as to your guilt - which I wouldn't - it would mean very little; and not only because hearsay is hardly proof."</p><p>"I had no idea of any of this," I finally said. "To think Erik had been...that you'd met Erik before..."</p><p>"You never pick up a newspaper." My father's eyes were gentle as he smiled at me. "You never talk to anyone. And I never thought it important to tell you."</p><p>I held my chin up a bit. "You never talk to anyone, either, Papa."</p><p>Erik was looking between me and my father with relief. I knew he'd been expecting derision, horror, repulsion from him - but was met instead with warmth and kindness and, God-willing, acceptance. I saw hope - genuine hope in his eyes.</p><p>My father responded, "At least I read the newspaper."</p>
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<a name="section0089"><h2>89. The Oblivion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>You were unconscious for days. I thought you would never awaken. I thought you would die there on that bed.</p><p>But you did wake up. You lived. Your body, however, remained asleep.</p><p>I took you to Nadir's house so that you would be safe. Away from me, away from my chambers, to ensure that it was harder for people to harm you.</p><p>I came to visit. Early in the morning, and I recall your annoyance at that fact - but it was during that visit that I heard you sing, and... God, Christine, I'd never heard anything so beautiful. I knew then, right in that moment, that I was falling in love with you. Your voice, so lovely and rich and sweet, touched my soul, and I wanted to be near you.</p><p>It wasn't that the sound was perfect. It needed tuning, yes, but it was...pure. Good. A representation of your heart.</p><p>When I heard you sing, I stumbled. I lost my footing, mentally and physically, and I needed to leave the room.</p><p>I came back later to relay to you what I'd found out - the name of the man who poisoned you.</p><p>Amir. Your trainer.</p><p>You broke. I watched as you broke down before me. You begged for a friend - a single friend in the entire world.</p><p>I offered myself.</p><p>You accepted.</p><p>And when I gave you singing lessons, when I saw your expression upon hearing my own voice, I saw something fundamental shift in your regard of me. I saw, for the first time, a look of admiration. I saw that you found an element of me beautiful.</p><p>I went to bed dreaming about that look. That stirring of care for me.</p><p>Even while I chided myself for ignoring what my curse had taught me many times before.</p><p>Letting you care was not safe - but I wanted it.</p><p>I wanted it so badly.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>Amir, regardless of his higher intentions, of his well-meaning reasons, had led you to believe that he was your friend. He'd ignored the trust you'd held for that bond and harmed you anyway; never even having the courage to admit to you that he was the one to harm you.</p><p>That was not a mistake I would make. You'd accepted my friendship when I offered it. Considering how you'd feared me before, how I still held a frightening, sickening amount of power over you, your wanting me anywhere near you was nearly laughable. But, for whatever reason, you were now looking past the very natural barrier between us.</p><p>So I would not take our unlikely friendship lightly.</p><p>I didn't feel guilt for killing him; at least, I didn't feel guilt for his situation. I did, however, feel as though I was tacking on one more tragedy to whatever you had been through up until now. Taken, ripped from your father, forced to train to serve people who couldn't give a single damn for your situation, taken to me - and then immediately made to witness a murder at my hands and a poisoning.</p><p>And now, the only person you'd thought you could trust through all of it was to be executed by the person everyone assumed you were serving; all because he tried to execute you.</p><p>I wrote the word 'false' on his forehead. I cut his throat so that he could speak no more lies. And I did it all while he was in a wooden box, physically trapped as you were.</p><p>When it was done, I went straight to my chambers - not stopping until I was in Echo Hall and on my way to see to it that you had the friend you deserved.</p><p>When I entered through the study, Nadir was reading by lamplight, sitting in an armchair. He only glanced up from his novel to look at me, before turning his attention back down.</p><p>"You'll be pleased to learn, I'm sure," he said, "that Christine can draw again."</p><p>I stared at him. "What?"</p><p>"She has the use of her hands now," he said, "she-"</p><p>I didn't bother letting him finish. I was out of the study and up the stairs within seconds flat. I opened the door to your bedroom, and was immediately greeted to the sight of drawings - so many drawings - on your bed. I looked at you in shock.</p><p>You waved. And smiled.</p><p>Smiled.</p><p>At me.</p><p>I couldn't resist smiling back. "Nadir did say that you regained the use of your hands. Does this-" I waved a hand toward your drawings- "mean you'll no longer be interested in singing, then?"</p><p>"I still want lessons," you responded - a bit too quickly, I might add, but I liked it. Your voice. I didn't want to stop hearing it.</p><p>My smile grew. "Good." I tilted my head to the side. "So you are now able to draw. But you told me yesterday that you also enjoy fresh air."</p><p>"Yes," you said, watching me steadily.</p><p>I felt a small uptick in my heart rate and nodded. "I have a bit of a gift for you, then." And I hoped you liked it. I truly hoped you did.</p><p>Your brows raised. "What kind of gift?"</p><p>I stepped forward, slowly. I didn't want to say. I wanted you to see. "Would you mind terribly if I carried you?"</p><p>You paused a moment before replying, "No, I don't mind."</p><p>I had to hide the nervousness inside me.</p><p>I had to hide my fear that you'd change your mind.</p><p>I had to remember, too, that I couldn't let this go too far. I knew it was a terrible idea to try to form a relationship with you. Yet, somehow, I couldn't stop myself.</p><p>I never could.</p><p>And that was the trouble - my damned need to be wanted led to disaster every time.</p><p>So I did as I always did.</p><p>I put on my mask. Not the physical one I was wearing - rather, the sly tongue I slipped on when I felt too close to feeling something inconvenient.</p><p>"And this time, fair maiden," I said, faking a grin, knowing you'd never willingly touch me more than necessary, "you can wrap your arms around Eric's neck."</p><p>"With a C." Your eyes shone.</p><p>"Now you're catching up."</p><p>I picked you up, and to my utter surprise, you actually did wrap your arms around my neck. My every muscle tense, and I looked at you briefly, but your face was entirely calm. I'd have to match that expression. I forced myself to relax.</p><p>I brought you to the rooftop, asking you to use your newfound hands to assist in opening doors and latches. I could have done it myself - you weren't heavy and I could have shifted your weight with little issue - but I knew I made the right decision when your eyes lit with delight at the chance to make use of your arms.</p><p>I knew I made the correct choice in a gift for you, as well, when you looked at the roof in wonder. I'd asked Mitra the night before to set up the wine and blankets, and she obliged. I'd paid her for the service.</p><p>"We have two options," I said softly, watching you take in the space. "We can sit in the chairs, or we can lie down."</p><p>"What are we doing?" you whispered.</p><p>I paused and said, "Look up."</p><p>You did, and I marveled at the stars in your eyes that reflected the actual shimmering dots above. I could, I think, get used to the sight of your relaxed, blissful face.</p><p>"Lie down," you breathed.</p><p>I was taken out of my small reverie. "Sorry?"</p><p>"I want to lie down to look at them."</p><p>All right. We could do that.</p><p>The blankets were space far enough apart that you would feel comfortable. I was glad they were. I think I would have cracked if I'd been lying flush against you.</p><p>Before you'd sung, I hadn't felt so desperate - on the verge of losing myself completely - for you to think of me as a man and not a monster. I'd wanted you to see the good, yes, but now...now it was a rabid need. I had to remember that, though you liked my voice as well, it didn't mean you liked me as much as I was finding myself liking you.</p><p>And, by God, it had been a mere week that I'd known you.</p><p>This was ridiculous.</p><p>But I couldn't stop myself.</p><p>I brought you down onto the blanket, ensuring that no part of you hit the ground harshly. You were watching me with interest as I did so.</p><p>"Are you comfortable?" I asked you when I stood straight again.</p><p>"Yes. Very much so."</p><p>I looked to the bottle and back to you. "I brought wine." My face heated behind the mask. Too much. The wine was too much. I shrugged, though I lacked my normal ability to really convey nonchalance. "You don't have to drink any, and I won't if you won't. But I thought, perhaps, it could be fun."</p><p>You didn't respond for a minute, and I genuinely had the urge to pick you back up and take you downstairs without another word. But then you smiled again. "That would be fun, yes."</p><p>The relief I felt was overwhelming.</p><p>I went to the other blanket and sat, keeping my hands steady as I poured both yourself and myself wine. You sat, drinking. I drank too.</p><p>It was when you leaned back onto your elbow that I felt a tugging on my stomach - it wasn't right. Something about it wasn't right. I was sitting here, enjoying your company, right after I'd mutilated and killed your-</p><p>"Christine?" Your name was out of my mouth, quite against my wishes.</p><p>You looked at me. "Yes?"</p><p>"Before we continue the evening," I said, "I think I must remind you that I executed Amir tonight."</p><p>You looked away, a flash of something sharp in your gaze; and, for some reason, it satisfied me. But it pained me as well. I was feeling vindicated for the guilt I felt, but I didn't want to have to feel guilty at all. I simply couldn't sit here and pretend that everything was normal. Not, of course, that anything had ever been normal.</p><p>Finally, you asked me, "Do you want to talk about it?"</p><p>Jesus Christ, no.</p><p>I narrowed my eyes. "Do you want to know about it?"</p><p>A pause, and then, "I'd like to."</p><p>I looked quickly into my wine. I wanted to tell you that I, actually, wanted to forget about it. But it was because of what happened to you that he was killed. Unfortunately, you deserved to know.</p><p>"I did some research into him," I said, "before I killed him. I don't normally do this, but...given his association to you, I felt...well-" I sighed. "His mother was apparently half-French, which is why he knows so much of it; though I assume she either died or stopped teaching him as he speaks it brokenly. He became a eunuch when he was still a child, training to serve in harems for years before he trained the Shah's courtesans and then you." I found your gaze. "Apparently - and this information was found out by the Echoes listening to him speak to other members of the Violet Dawn - he poisoned the tea by stopping the servant who brought the tray of food, telling her that you prefer a specific kind of sugar, and procuring that very sugar right then and there. He added it to the tea, and the servant didn't stop him. She, and the members he spoke to, are currently being held in prison as they await my punishment over the following days."</p><p>Did she know?" you asked. "The servant?"</p><p>"No. It sounds like she didn't. Amir himself said she didn't."</p><p>"Then why-"</p><p>"Because she should have known better than to let another tamper with food," I said bitterly. "It's not her fault, no, but it was careless." I felt sick to my stomach. "I'm not happy that I have to kill her, Christine." I took a drink of my wine</p><p>"I know." You drank as well.</p><p>I put the glass down, letting out a sigh. "Amir died quickly. He was gone within seconds."</p><p>Another pause. "How?" you whispered.</p><p>It was my turn to pause. "A card trick," I said, remembering the dark events of the night.</p><p>You sat up completely. "A card trick?"</p><p>"Yes." I wouldn't - refused to - look at you, not while I was talking about this. "With him shackled, I performed for the Shah's mother, the Little Khanum - the Shah doesn't typically attend the executions, unless he has me perform for guests, as you saw with the taste-tester. I had her pull a card at random, knowing it would be a card I painted and placed in there, titled the Foe, picturing a bloodthirsty knight." I took another drink. "I put Amir into a tall wooden box with a door for several seconds; and when the Little Khanum pulled the card, I revealed I knew the card by opening the box. And inside was Amir, his throat slit and a word carved into his forehead - FAUX." My breath was shallow. You were bound to hate me again, regardless of the fact that he'd betrayed you. "He was dead, of course."</p><p>You drank again.</p><p>And continued drinking.</p><p>I didn't refuse you when you asked for a third glass - though I could see you becoming drunk before my eyes.</p><p>I didn't blame you.</p><p>For now, I enjoyed the very long stretch of silence that was taking place, letting myself become lost in the vastness of the sky above, and feel selfish pleasure at your nearness - even when I knew I was the reason you were making yourself addle your own mind.</p><p>I closed my eyes.</p><p>"I was taken while out walking alone," you said suddenly, voice slurred, and my eyes opened again. It took a moment for me to understand that you were referring to your kidnapping. "I didn't see them coming."</p><p>My core heated.</p><p>God damn it.</p><p>If I ever met these sons of bitches, I swear-</p><p>"I'm sorry, Christine."</p><p>"It's my fault," you claimed. "I shouldn't have been outside."</p><p>No. Absolutely incorrect.</p><p>"The cruelty of others," I said, "isn't your fault."</p><p>But your small divulgence into your own mind prompted me to feel comfortable sharing something myself.</p><p>I let another stretch of silence pass, and then told you, "When I was a small child, I used to have a recurring nightmare that I would be gazing up at the stars just like this, and one by one they would all wink out, until it was just endless darkness above me - so vast and empty that I thought I would fall upward into it and never land, just...continue on forever like that. But that dream no longer frightens me. In fact, I think it would be better that way. I like the idea of oblivion. The idea of nothing - no pain, no suffering... Nothing, forever."</p><p>And, quite honestly, I didn't know what I expected you to respond with. But it certainly wasn't what came out of your mouth next. Your very drunken, uninhibited mouth:</p><p>"You aren't a killer, and I like your face."</p><p>Immediately, I felt both intensely warm and strikingly cold. That was alcohol talking. That wasn't you. Of course you hated my face. Of course you thought I was a killer. But your words, though lacking in any kind of grace, sent a spear of emotion through me, and I had to physically fight back tears.</p><p>This wasn't fair.</p><p>I didn't ask for you to arrive at my door.</p><p>I didn't want a concubine.</p><p>And I certainly didn't want to start falling in love with one.</p><p>But maybe this was my punishment - all the lives I'd taken had to bite me hard one day. I couldn't continue killing forever without retribution.</p><p>For all the hearts the Angel of Death had forced to stop beating, who would have thought that a small, quiet, broken-bodied slave would steal his?</p><p>I looked at you, and you only looked back at me, eyes glazed over with alcohol. I sat up, corking the bottle with shaking hands. "That's enough wine, I think." </p>
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<a name="section0090"><h2>90. The Musician</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>Erik told me that, between now and the completion of the Chamber's construction - which was expected to take about a month more - Erik would be expected to continue executing. Now that the plans for the Chamber were done, his focus could return to magical killings.</p><p>Once the Chamber was built, however, it would be responsible for executions, and Erik would return to his original purpose. Entertainment through mere magic.</p><p>I asked him while lying next to him one night if he was capable of killing anymore.</p><p>He'd paused, and then said, resigned, "It is only for one more month. Then I will be done."</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>Over the next few weeks, we spent as much time as possible at Nadir's house. Nadir, surprisingly, didn't seem annoyed by this. In fact, he appeared entirely pleased that I had my father. And he seemed to like Gustave Daae - my father was calm and collected, analytical and quiet. And what was even better was that the safety and warmth and good company was healing my father from whatever residual illness he still had. His eyelids were no longer dark, he was standing up straighter, and he was walking up the stairs with little issue.</p><p>My father enjoyed Nadir's company in return, but he seemed to especially like Ibrahim, and his mood brightened whenever the Grand Vizier came around. Though my father himself was unassuming, he did enjoy people who were more spirited. Like my mother. And he found Ibrahim hilarious.</p><p>The person, though, that he was most interested in (besides me) was Erik.</p><p>He wanted to know as much as he could.</p><p>It was a few days after they first been introduced properly that he said to him, late at night after Reza and Nadir had retired to bed, "Christine sang for me the other night."</p><p>Erik cocked his head. "Oh?"</p><p>"Yes." My father took a sip of wine, and then placed it on the coffee table. He leaned back onto his armchair, looking at us where we sat on the couch perpendicular to him. "She was very, very good. And she said that you taught her."</p><p>Erik smiled. "Yes, that's true."</p><p>"So, does that mean that you sing?"</p><p>"I do."</p><p>"May I hear?"</p><p>Erik didn't say yes or no. He merely stood, assuming a position most suitable for singing, and began.</p><p>I watched as my father's eyes widened, his emotions matching my own in wonder. I was still, to this day, marveled by Erik's voice. And every time he sang, I fell in love with him a little bit more.</p><p>When Erik finished, he took a seat next to me again. I gripped his hand. He held it in return.</p><p>"That was..." my father began, and had to physically shake his head to clear the daze he'd been in. "That was incredible." He studied Erik. "I've never heard that piece that you sang."</p><p>"I wrote it."</p><p>My father's brows rose. "You write music?"</p><p>He nodded. "And play piano. I've never tried my hand at violin, though I've created a little toy that can play the instrument. It's currently with Reza."</p><p>"I'd like to see that tomorrow."</p><p>Erik smiled. "I'm sure Reza would be willing to show it to you."</p><p>My father stared for a while longer at Erik. Then he turned his look to me. "You picked a musician, Christine."</p><p>I grinned. "Yes, Papa."</p><p>"Well," he said, and picked up his wine once more, "I do approve. And-" He looked at Erik. "Should you wish to marry my daughter - which I should hope are your eventual intentions - you would have my blessing."</p>
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<a name="section0091"><h2>91. The Unbelievable</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>You healed. Completely.</p><p>And you were brought back to my chambers to live with me, under the condition that you attended executions.</p><p>I was so frightened that you would hate me again. You'd told me, in words, that you now cared for me; and though this terrified me, your insistence broke my resolve. Of course I wanted your affection. Curse or no curse, I wanted it. And your reasoning that, because you were the one insisting, any foul fate would be at your own hands, not mine.</p><p>It was selfish, but I accepted this. I needed to feel cared for by you - and though you didn't love me as I now loved you, I would take whatever small pieces you would offer. Friendship would be enough.</p><p>When I was summoned to the party, you came with me. To be a comfort. At first, you were calm, and I felt that, perhaps, the night would go smoothly and quickly. But when the Flowers arrived, I watched as you retreated into some dark corner of your mind. I recognized that look. That place you went. It couldn't have been very different from the places I went as a child, trapped in a cage, having people leer at me through the bars.</p><p>I tried whispering in your ear. I tried actually speaking. I glanced at you repeatedly as I performed magic for the Shah and his guests. But your eyes never left the floor.</p><p>Only when I'd brought you back to my rooms did you finally snap out of it. But you expressed to me your guilt - why hadn't I taken your body when I had the chance? Why had you been saved from their fate? What made you so special?</p><p>There was nothing, I think, I could have said that would have eased your guilt. So I merely did what you'd done for me during that thunderstorm. I held you in my arms and asked you:</p><p>"Tell me five things you can see."</p><p>You trembled, and my heart broke a bit with every tremor. You moved your face to see the room. "The table," you said softly. "The couch. The walls. The rug. You."</p><p>"Good," I said gently. "Three things you can feel."</p><p>"The air. My clothes. You."</p><p>"All right." I rubbed your back. You trembled again. "One good thing that happened today."</p><p>You didn't respond for a while. Instead your breathing increased, as though you were about to panic once more.</p><p>"Christine?" I coaxed, gently as I could.</p><p>You tightened your grip on me, then told me:</p><p>"I realized I love you."</p><p>My mind cleared itself of everything.</p><p>I hadn't heard you right. I asked you to repeat yourself. You did.</p><p>I asked you why you'd say something like that. I told you that you didn't mean it. That you were feeling vulnerable. I asked you to not lie to me.</p><p>I thought of every excuse under the sun for why you might not mean what you said.</p><p>But you did mean it. Despite everything, your words were your truth. You loved me. You.</p><p>And when I let my guard down, when I accepted the possibility of it, I felt real happiness, real joy and connection and peace - something I never thought I'd experience again.</p><p>Christine. I love you. I love you with everything I have in me.</p><p>I need you to know that.</p><p>Above all, I need you to know that.</p>
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<a name="section0092"><h2>92. The Distance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>Something changed three weeks after my father arrived.</p><p>Nadir, Reza, my father, Erik, and I were all sitting in Nadir's living room. My father was telling dark Scandinavian stories, of which Reza was taking immense pleasure. But as the night wore on, Reza's ability to stay awake was tested, and he did not win that battle.</p><p>He fell asleep, against his father arm.</p><p>I watched as Nadir gently moved his arm from under his child's head so that the boy could lay down on his lap. I watched as Nadir pushed hair from Reza's eyes. I watched as Nadir looked at his son with affection.</p><p>I wasn't the only one looking.</p><p>Erik was too. And so was my father.</p><p>Nadir realized this. He blinked at us, and then excused himself. He told us that he would be taking his son to bed.</p><p>Strangely, after that, Erik did not meet my gaze.</p><p>He asked me if I would like to spend the night here. My father brightened, saying he would love for me to do that. I said yes.</p><p>But there was something wrong. This wasn't a suggestion borne of a want for my father and me to be with one another - at least, not completely.</p><p>Something in his expression, in his tone, gave me pause. I asked him if he was all right. He said yes, but then left shortly after.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>I thought, perhaps, things would be better in the morning. Perhaps he had a headache. Perhaps he was upset from a recent execution, and needed time alone.</p><p>But he never returned to bring me back to his chambers.</p><p>What made it worse was the sudden change in Nadir's and Ibrahim's demeanors. It wasn't obvious - it was so slight that I barely noticed it - but there was a new, strange distance between them and me, like they were trying to hide something.</p><p>I felt fresh worry.</p><p>Erik was refusing to come back and see me. I asked Nadir several times where he was, and the answer was always the same: "He merely needs some time to himself."</p><p>I didn't believe this.</p><p>It was too sudden of a shift.</p><p>Had I done something? Said something?</p><p>What was going on?</p>
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<a name="section0093"><h2>93. The Apology</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>I'm sorry, Christine.</p><p>I love you.</p><p>I'm so sorry.</p>
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<a name="section0094"><h2>94. The Sacrifice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>My father was worried as well. After the amount of love he'd seen Erik show me, his sudden absence confused us both.</p><p>It was midday, a week after I'd last seen him, that Erik arrived at my bedroom door in Nadir's house.</p><p>A million questions raced through my mind as I watched him stand there in the doorway, eyes dark, looking at me. There was a stack of paper in his hands.</p><p>"May I come in?" he asked softly.</p><p>I nodded, feeling a pit in my stomach. I closed the door after him. "Erik-"</p><p>"Christine," he said, at the exact same moment. He waited for me to continue, but I nodded for him to speak. "Christine, I love you."</p><p>My face contorted. "Then why-"</p><p>"Please." His voice was gentle but firm. "Please, before you speak, listen."</p><p>I closed my mouth.</p><p>"I love you more than anything," he said, gaze hard, pinning into me, "but I have to be the one to go into that Chamber."</p><p>My mouth went dry. "But Nadir-"</p><p>"Has a son."</p><p>I stared at him.</p><p>"Nadir is the only family that Reza has left."</p><p>"You can't." I gripped the doorknob behind me. I needed to hold on to something.</p><p>I saw a grimace in his mouth. "Christine, if Reza is orphaned when I could have prevented it - if he is left without family because I wanted to live happily ever after with you - I will never forgive myself."</p><p>"He could come home with us," I suggested, but my voice wouldn't go above a whisper. "He could be...we could take care of him in France."</p><p>Sadness lined his eyes. "Reza adores our company, yes, Christine, but he loves his father. More than you realize, I think. And Nadir - as cold as he seems, he has unending warmth for his son. I would hate myself for destroying that. And you?" He closed his eyes. "Christine, you have your father now, too. And you and he can leave for France once the Shah is gone - with or without me."</p><p>No.</p><p>No no no.</p><p>No, this was all wrong.</p><p>"I thought you loved me," I said, voice breaking. I felt tears forming in my eyes. "I thought you wanted to marry me."</p><p>"I do love you, Christine." His voice broke too. He took a shaky breath. "And I could survive this. If Ibrahim is right, and the Shah would break before the heat kills-"</p><p>"Then Nadir could do it. If the Shah will break, then Nadir will survive-"</p><p>"But there's a chance that won't happen."</p><p>"Exactly!" My voice was shrill. Erik looked pained as he took me in. "You can't do this. You're so...you're so selfish! You can't make me fall in love with you all these months, all this time, and then do this! You asked me before if I was angry with you for planning to do this behind my back, but I wasn't, because Nadir volunteered instead. But now you- Now I'm furious!" Hot, fat tears slid down my face. "You can't do this. You can't just rip yourself away from me. It's not fair."</p><p>I knew he was crying too, but he didn't take his eyes off of me. He stared at me, taking my words, unflinching.</p><p>There was silence, and then he responded, gently, "I am glad that you hate me."</p><p>I was incredulous. "What?"</p><p>"It will be easier to forget me. And should I survive, I will deserve your hatred then too."</p><p>I wanted to scream. I wanted to bang my head against the wall. I wanted to break something.</p><p>"Please," I begged him. "Please don't do this."</p><p>He finally looked away. "The Chamber was finished this morning," he said. "Nadir knows where I stand on this. Ibrahim does too. And now you know. You'll tell your father, and he will know. Reza will learn. This is my punishment for taking the lives of hundreds - I will either die and take the Shah with me, or I will survive and lose you. I know you hate me now, Christine." He paused. "I will always love you." A pause, and then he dropped the stack of papers on the bed. "Please read this. I never did get the chance to tell you about my life. Should you care to know...it's all right there."</p><p>He didn't kiss me. He didn't hug me.</p><p>I think it was for the better. I think we both would have broken apart should he have done so.</p><p>He left.</p><p>Leaving me alone with those papers.</p><p>And the problem with his logic, I decided as he closed the door behind him, was that I didn't hate him.</p><p>The problem was that I loved him more than words could ever say.</p><p>Hands shaking, I picked up the papers and read.</p>
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<a name="section0095"><h2>95. The Goodbye and Decision</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Erik-----</p><p>I will enter the Chamber at precisely eight tonight.</p><p>Should I not come back to see you by midnight, I will have perished in the Chamber.</p><p>This is how it will happen, Christine, should you wish to know. Should you rather not, then stop reading now and put the papers down.</p><p>The Shah wants to inspect the Chamber. He will have guards present, ready to destroy the Chamber should he become trapped inside.</p><p>But they will not be guards. They will be Echoes. Trained, as you know, to listen to no one but Nadir. And Nadir will certainly not be ordering them to help the Shah out of the Chamber.</p><p>Once two men are within it, and the door closes, it locks, and there is no way in or out. Not until either twelve hours pass or the noose on the iron tree is pulled. But you cannot simply pull the noose with your hands - you have to hang. The Chamber will know the difference. I designed it that way.</p><p>Nadir will be in attendance. So will Ibrahim and the Prince. No one else.</p><p>And the Prince will claim that it was all a suicide attempt. That he watched it all happen, that the Shah refused to let the Chamber be destroyed. That he wanted to either roast to death or hang, as he could no longer go on without his mother. The Prince will say that he tried to order the guards to help regardless; Ibrahim and Nadir will say the same. But the guards, when given a direct order from the Shah, must always obey. The Prince will say that he attempted to leave Mirror Hall to get other guards, but the the guards currently present refused to let him or anyone leave. There was no way to stop this death.</p><p>And should I survive, I will be exiled from Persia, for creating the very thing that killed the distraught new Shah's older brother.</p><p>Should I survive, I will see you again, my love.</p><p>If not, then this is goodbye.</p><p>I love you. Take care of yourself (and Ayesha, if you can). Fall in love again. Live a full life. I want that for you, should I perish.</p><p>I will love you until my dying breath.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>-----Christine-----</p><p>I read it all.</p><p>Every word of his life.</p><p>I cried more than once. Many more times than once.</p><p>My father tried to knock on my door. But I'd locked it. I couldn't see him right now. I couldn't voice what I was reading. What Erik had told me. I couldn't, and I likely wouldn't be able to for a long time.</p><p>And when I was done, I laid down on my side. I curled up, wishing I would wither away into dust.</p><p>He could live. He could survive. We could all go to France.</p><p>Or I could lose him.</p><p>My head pounded. I was dehydrated from crying. But I didn't want to drink.</p><p>I pictured that room. Echo Hall. How it might now look with the Chamber inside of it. I imagined all those mirrors. Mirrors of the Chamber. Mirrors of the hall. Mirrors upon mirrors upon mirrors.</p><p>I wondered if the Chamber's mirrors were two-way - if that's how people saw in. I wondered-</p><p>I sat up with a gasp.</p><p>Mirror Hall.</p><p>That question I'd asked myself when I was in Ibrahim's care - about whether Echo Hall...</p><p>I looked at the clock. Seven-thirty.</p><p>I was up from the bed. I didn't have time to think. I had to go now. I had to see.</p><p>I unlocked the door. I began to run, but paused at my father's door. I could tell him where I was going, but...but there wasn't time. I sprinted down the stairs, through his house, and into the study. Only the servants and Reza were home, but no one saw me. Good.</p><p>I opened the latch to Echo Hall.</p><p>And I did my best to navigate. I moved on swift feet toward where I knew Erik's rooms were, but I visualized the palace.</p><p>Where was Mirror Hall?</p><p>I had no idea.</p><p>And with little time to think, I merely allowed myself to get lost in the dark, cold maze between the walls of the palace.</p><p>Under normal circumstances, I would have panicked, knowing that I didn't have a clue as to my location. But all I could think about was that time was running out. I could only hear my feet pounding into the floor like the rapid ticking of a clock.</p><p>And then, when I was sure I was deep within Echo Hall, deeper than I'd ever imagined going, I saw it.</p><p>Light.</p><p>Bright light, as though through an opening.</p><p>But it wasn't an opening. It was glass. A long stretch of the Hall was glass.</p><p>And beyond the glass, I saw, was a room of mirrors.</p><p>Within the room of mirrors was a structure of metal beams and even more glass, within which was a small iron oak tree, its branches just low enough that a man would have to reach up above his head to reach them. A noose hung from one of the branches.</p><p>The door to the structure, octagonal in shape, was on my side of the room. It had no handle. It was open.</p><p>And then I saw them. Nadir. Ibrahim. The Prince. All on one side, watching. Guards - who I knew to be Echoes - watching as well. The Shah entered the Chamber, fascinated. Erik began to move toward the door as well.</p><p>I didn't think.</p><p>I just acted.</p><p>On instinct.</p><p>I'd come to Persia alone. Frightened. A mouse looking into the gaping maw of a lion.</p><p>I'd been a drop of water in a forest on fire, ready to evaporate.</p><p>I'd been a fragile flower in a field of vines.</p><p>But I wasn't a mouse anymore.</p><p>I wasn't a drop of water.</p><p>I wasn't a flower.</p><p>I was Christine, and I would not watch idly as my life was determined for me.</p><p>I braced myself and ran straight through the glass. I fell, hearing shouts of men, and felt a shock of sharp pain as shards of glass went through my clothes and pierced my skin. But I didn't stop to consider if I was bleeding. I stood, adrenaline taking over, and ran to the Chamber's door.</p><p>I didn't look at Erik. Or Nadir. Or Ibrahim. Or Prince Izad. Or any of the Echoes.</p><p>I met the Shah's eyes as he stood watching me with disbelief. I met the eyes of the man who kidnapped me, stole the lives of dozens of girls, tore down Erik's soul, murdered Nadir's wife. The man who was so hated that his own brother and right hand man wished him dead. The man who would never, ever hurt anyone again.</p><p>And I closed the door behind me.</p>
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<a name="section0096"><h2>96. The Chamber</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hope you've enjoyed the New Years Eve surprise of a bunch of chapters at once :) last one for the day</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>Once upon a time, Prince Eric and Maiden Kristine lived happily ever after. Their story had been the stuff of imagination - of idealizations. Of untold emotions and wishful thinking. And their story had already been finished. They'd been given a happy ending, so their tale now had to end.</p><p>And a new one needed to be told.</p><p>Somewhere else, somewhere far from where happy endings were born, there was a boy with the curse of death. The people of his village saw that curse and took from him everything he loved. They took everything that loved him.</p><p>They sold him to the Underworld, where no sunlight would ever reach - where its king kept him there and tormented him endlessly in a seemingly inescapable prison. It was only when the king killed the Underworld's guard-beast, the great three-headed dog, that the boy killed the king and travelled up, up, all the way up to the surface.</p><p>And once at the surface, he discovered a magical land of moonlit rivers. A land of talking animals. He'd stumbled upon paradise. A fox found him hungry and alone; it offered him a home in its den. He shared this den with several other creatures as well - a dragonfly. A cat. A stag. A bird. The boy accepted. To blend in with his new family, he himself became a spider. But there was trouble in this paradise - the ruler of the land was a terrible, cruel, monstrous wolf who despised the fox and all the rest. When the beloved bird died upon laying her eggs, the boy insulted the wolf in his grief. The wolf, with his pack, came and killed every animal in the den - except for the boy, hidden well in his spidery form.</p><p>So the boy continued on.</p><p>He wandered. Aimless. Until one day, he was taken to a land of thorns and vines. The lord of the thorns tasked him with destroying any plant he deemed unworthy of life - any plant that challenged the Thorn Lord's existence, that threatened to tear down the thousands of strangling vines. And so he did, but plotted to demolish the thorns and vines himself. He knew that doing so required a sacrifice, and decided that he would go down with the ruler.</p><p>But then the Thorn Lord gifted him a rose, and the boy with the curse of death fell in love with her.</p><p>The rose fell in love with him, too.</p><p>And when the time came for him to kill the Thorn Lord as well as himself, the rose took the boy's place.</p><p>She would not allow her love to die.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>For a moment, there was silence as I stared into the Shah's eyes. Surrounding us was what looked like a forest of iron trees - but I knew that only the one existed. All of the others were a mere reflection. A single light in the metal ceiling of the chamber illuminated the space, but dimly. The forest, with its silvery color, looked eerie - the dozens of nooses hanging from their branches did not help.</p><p>The tree, the real one, began to heat. I could feel the heat coming from it already.</p><p>The Shah's wide eyes looked to the iron.</p><p>I heard Ibrahim's voice clearly, even through the glass: "Allah..."</p><p>And then Erik's heart-wrenching yell as he realized what I'd just done. "No!"</p><p>I couldn't see them. Any of them. All I could see was my reflection, the Shah's reflection, the tree's reflection, over and over again.</p><p>The tree continued to heat. The space started becoming warm. Very warm.</p><p>"Christine!" cried Erik. I could hear panic, anguish in his voice. "What have you done?"</p><p>I heard Nadir let out a stream of uncharacteristic curses.</p><p>It was then that the Shah realized what had happened. Truly understood. His entire face opened in fear as he stared at me, then went to one of the walls of the Chamber. He put his palms flat against it. Through his heavy intake and outtake of breath, he spoke in Persian as calmly as he could.</p><p>No one responded.</p><p>His face contorted in anger and he banged on the glass. He spoke louder, more forcefully.</p><p>The Prince was the one who replied. His voice was calm, serene, and I recognized the Persian word for "No."</p><p>The Shah screamed. He slammed his body with all of his might against the glass. He did it again. And again. It didn't so much as crack.</p><p>The Chamber's wall material was simultaneously strong enough to withstand a grown man's force, but delicate enough to emit sound through it. And the Chamber itself, what it was capable of, with the self-heating tree, a glass box with a mind of its own at the shutting of a door - Erik's engineering abilities were so far ahead of his time.</p><p>"Perhaps we should," said Erik. I could hear terror in his voice. "We should tear it down. Christine could die. She could-"</p><p>"No," said Nadir. "No, we will not touch the Chamber."</p><p>The Shah continued slamming his body into the glass.</p><p>"Christine could die!" Erik growled. "Put your need for revenge aside, please, for just a single moment-"</p><p>"And if we take her out," explained the Daroga matter-of-factly, "then she will absolutely die. The Shah would see to it immediately."</p><p>"Not if we-"</p><p>"Kill the Shah? And how exactly do you suggest doing that in a way that doesn't indicate struggle? Remember that our alibi is that he chose to die - that he is ending his life willingly within the Chamber. Now, our weapons are our hands, my Echoes' guard guns, and...do you have your lasso? No? No, because why bring a defensive weapon when you fully expect to die? So we are down to gunshot wounds and bodily bruises to murder him - which of those screams 'died by suicide within a self-heating chamber' to you?"</p><p>Erik let his words sink in for a moment, then let out a strangled wail. "Christine! Christine, you're so...you're so stupid! How could you do this! I can't lose you too; I can't-"</p><p>"I can't lose you, either," I said softly. "So now we are even."</p><p>"Even!" he yelled. "Even! This is not a game! This is not the time to act on your pride!"</p><p>I pursed my lips.</p><p>"I can't lose you," Erik said again. "I can't. Please. I can't take it. If you die, then I will die too. I won't be able to go on. Christine-"</p><p>Just then, the Shah stopped banging himself against the wall. He looked at me, fury in his gaze, glanced at the noose hanging from the branch, and went to me. I realized too late what he was doing, and before I could get away from him, he grabbed me by the waist and hoisted me up.</p><p>He began walking me toward the tree. To the noose.</p><p>To hang me himself.</p><p>Erik and Ibrahim both gave cries of rage, as the Shah shouted, breathless, at all of the men watching. I didn't know what he was telling them, but I could read his tone enough to know he was cursing them.</p><p>Initially, I tried to pull myself free with my hands. Or hit him on his shoulders or the side of his head. Then, when the fear of that noose overtook me, some kind of animal instinct took hold and I jabbed the nail of my thumb into his left eye.</p><p>He dropped me, screaming in pain - no doubt this man was used to very little pain as it was. I landed on my side as he brought his hands to his eye, trying to ease his own suffering, but my nails weren't short - a bit past the tips of my fingers. And I'd dug my thumb in deep.</p><p>I wasn't surprised when he pulled his hands away to reveal blood.</p><p>I half-expected him to go after me again. But he didn't. A predator realizing its prey wasn't the weak young thing he'd thought, he turned away from me - lest, perhaps, I go after his other eye.</p><p>A coward, I realized. This man was a coward. For all the hurt he caused, he was scared of it. He was terrified of pain.</p><p>Maybe that's why he reveled in it.</p><p>He was fascinated by what he feared.</p><p>"You're a craven," I whispered, moving away from him. From the tree. It was becoming unbearably hot. I wished, suddenly, that I'd had a drink of water after all. "A hypocrite."</p><p>I knew he couldn't understand me, but the words felt good to say regardless. I could feel the men outside watching us. I could feel Erik's eyes especially, even if I couldn't see them.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>There was not much to do now, but wait.</p><p>I found a corner of the Chamber to sit, and Erik went to that corner and spoke to me, softly, in my ear. He told me that he loved me. He told me not to give up. He told me that I was brave - so stupid, he reiterated, but brave.</p><p>At first, I was responding back. But as the heat grew ever unbearable, I stopped talking. My mouth was too dry. My eyes as well. I closed them.</p><p>This scared him. He would ask me every minute or so if I could hear him. I would nod.</p><p>I had no idea how much time passed, but I knew now what it was to be inside an oven.</p><p>The Shah was sitting on the other side of the Chamber from me, still nursing his eye. I wondered if he would be partially blind now.</p><p>If he would, I had to remind myself, then it wouldn't be for long.</p><p>Should the Shah not hang himself, it wouldn't be long for me either.</p><p>I hadn't seen it before, but under the noose was a metal stool. I wondered if, even with that stool, I was tall enough for the noose.</p><p>No.</p><p>Don't even consider that. No matter how hot it gets, don't even consider that possibility.</p><p>Erik kept talking. I heard Nadir speaking to Ibrahim and the Prince tersely, though I had no idea what they were saying.</p><p>My face was slick with sweat. My tongue felt like sandpaper, and every movement hurt.</p><p>I didn't care who saw me. I removed my dress, so that I was sitting in my underclothes, using the dress as a shield from the burning floor. If I was going to die, then decency was the least of my worries.</p><p>I felt sick. I felt as though I would vomit. I did vomit.</p><p>When I looked at my own reflection at last, I saw that I'd turned completely red. I closed my eyes again.</p><p>My head continued to throb. My heart raced. I thought, perhaps, my brain would burst from the pressure I felt there.</p><p>After a while, I couldn't understand Erik anymore. He spoke in French, but I couldn't focus. I opened my eyes, and the trees seemed to dance. The branches grew big, beautiful leaves. The forest changed color - silver to black to green to blue to yellow and back to silver.</p><p>The trees, and there were so many of them, whispered to me to sleep. Rest. They would take care of me. They would watch as I dreamed.</p><p>That sounded so nice. It sounded nice, even as Erik sobbed from somewhere far away, as Ibrahim attempted in vain to comfort him, as Nadir continued to curse.</p><p>I was about to close my eyes again when, among the trees, appeared a group of individuals I had never seen before, but were familiar to me nonetheless. They looked at me with adoration - all of them.</p><p>A homely, kind-eyed red-haired woman.</p><p>A golden spaniel.</p><p>A black dog with three heads.</p><p>Two tan-skinned young men.</p><p>A girl with long brown hair, an infant in her arms.</p><p>A dark-skinned man.</p><p>A man with a cane.</p><p>I knew who they were. I could name them now. But my lips were too cracked, and if I opened my mouth, they'd surely bleed. My mouth would bleed. My lungs would bleed.</p><p>I was dying. I was dying and they were here to take me away.</p><p>Marie smiled at me. "Thank you for loving my baby."</p><p>You're welcome. It was a pleasure. I wanted to say it but couldn't. I couldn't move anymore.</p><p>In unison, they all looked toward the dancing, beautiful trees. At one tree in particular. The closest one. The one, I realized, that had stayed the color of iron the entire time. We all watched as the Shah rose slowly and went to the tree. He went to stand on the stool. Silence as he did so.</p><p>I closed my eyes. I kept them closed. I was sure I would never open them again.</p><p>I slipped away from consciousness, even as I heard Giovanni whisper to me, "It's not your time, Christine."</p>
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<a name="section0097"><h2>97. The Aftermath</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>I was awoken to the feeling of snow engulfing me.</p><p>My eyes went wide open and I gasped.</p><p>Not snow, my delirious mind realized, but water. Ice-cold water.</p><p>I was in a tub of freezing liquid, still in my underclothes, in a bathing room I did not recognize. It certainly wasn't Erik's - probably a spare one in the palace. My head still pounded, but the water on my skin felt so good.</p><p>"Christine."</p><p>I looked to my left. Erik was kneeling next to the tub, gaze as hot as the Chamber I'd just been in. He held in his right hand a small silver pitcher.</p><p>"You're awake." His voice reflected his relief. "You're alive."</p><p>I nodded very slowly. I opened my mouth to speak, but my tongue was fuzzy and large in my mouth. I tried to swallow, but found that I couldn't. I didn't have enough saliva.</p><p>He dipped the pitcher into the tub and poured some of the freezing water over my head.</p><p>Oh, that felt so nice.</p><p>He let the pitcher fill again and then pressed it to my lips. At the water's closeness to my mouth, I gripped the pitcher and drank. Deeply. I found myself furrowing my brows and moaning slightly with pleasure as I did so.</p><p>I finished the entire thing.</p><p>He took the pitcher from me. He went to my underclothes and peeled them off of me. I helped him. I wanted the cold water touching all of my hot skin - that seemed to be his goal as well.</p><p>He filled the pitcher again. He let me drink my fill once more.</p><p>At one point, a knock sounded at the door. Erik opened it, shielding me from view. He accepted, from whoever it was, a white silk robe. He laid it out on the counter and then went to me again.</p><p>My skin was losing its redness. My headache was abating. He continuously poured water over my face. I closed my eyes.</p><p>"I thought I would lose you Christine," he whispered. "I thought I had killed you."</p><p>My voice was hoarse. "You wouldn't have-"</p><p>"I designed the Chamber. So yes. I would have."</p><p>I opened my eyes and held out my hand to him. He took it. As I looked down at my hand, my eyes trailed over my arms, and I realized that I had little cuts spread sporadically over my skin. On my legs as well. I recalled how I'd leaped through the the glass wall between Echo and Mirror Hall. How I'd done so without thinking. How lucky I was that I wasn't more injured.</p><p>"Don't do that again," he said.</p><p>"Do what?" I asked. Had he been reading my mind? "Which part?"</p><p>He frowned. "Put your life before mine."</p><p>I stared at him. "I can't make any promises."</p><p>He closed his eyes and exhaled. We both knew that neither of us could make that promise.</p><p>"No more secrets," I whispered. "You kept your intentions from me."</p><p>"I felt I had to."</p><p>"You didn't trust me?"</p><p>"I didn't trust myself." His eyes slowly opened. "I was afraid I would change my mind if you begged me. As it was, it was difficult not to change my mind when I gave you those papers this afternoon, and by then it was already too late. We'd already set our plan in stone."</p><p>A long pause.</p><p>"But yes," he said, and nodded. "I agree. No more secrets."</p><p>I nodded too. I relaxed into the coolness of the water.</p><p>And then reality caught up to me. The weight of what had just occurred. The gravity and implications - if I was alive, then...</p><p>"The Shah?" I said then, staring at him. "Is he..."</p><p>"He's dead." He didn't smile. "Finally."</p><p>I nodded. "I killed him."</p><p>"We all killed him. Including himself. We all had a role to play in that."</p><p>I could tell he thought I was haunted by that fact - that I'd helped. But I wasn't so sure I felt so terrible. In fact, his death was a relief.</p><p>"Prince Izad is currently...'deliberating' about what to do with us." He said the word in such a way that I knew the Prince was putting on an act. "He wants to punish the Angel of Death and his concubine - one for creating the Chamber and one for activating it. As I said in my papers, the plan is to exile us - but he is giving you time to rest and recover."</p><p>Then he was silent again. He, I could see, was more traumatized by the affair than I was. I gripped his hand a bit tighter as he poured water over me, but I looked away. I was surprised I wasn't more shocked, more in pieces, after what I'd been through. Instead, I felt...strong. After enduring what I did. The terrible heat, the maddening thirst, the pounding head and heart, staring death in the face while I hallucinated and saw-</p><p>I whipped my gaze to his again. "Erik, I saw them."</p><p>He blinked. "Who?"</p><p>"Your family. I saw them. When I was...when I was dying. They appeared. All of them. Marie thanked me for loving you. Giovanni told me it wasn't my time."</p><p>His eyes went wide. He cleared his throat and looked down. "You were seeing things."</p><p>"I know I was hallucinating somewhat in there but-"</p><p>"That was a hallucination too." His chest rose and fell steadily. "You'd just read about my life, hadn't you?"</p><p>I could have said no. I could have lied and said that I'd chosen not to read it, that they appeared to me unprompted, that I had no forethought of who they could be. He'd be more inclined to believe that it was really them.</p><p>But I wouldn't do that.</p><p>"Yes. I did."</p><p>He nodded. But he was deep in thought now. Staring into the water.</p><p>Only when I'd begun to shiver did he lift me from the tub.</p><p>"Can you stand?" he asked me.</p><p>"I can try."</p><p>He put me upright, and though I wobbled a bit, still dizzy, I could balance on two feet. He helped me into the robe. Then he picked me up again and carried me to his chambers. This time we weren't flanked by guards, but Echoes. The same Echoes who'd overseen the torture.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>He took me back to his rooms. I'd sleep there tonight. We'd explain ourselves to my father in the morning - and what a conversation that would be.</p><p>Together, we pulled off the robe I was wearing. He peeled off the blankets of the bed, making it so that I slept uncovered. I preferred that. Being trapped underneath any amount of heat sounded nightmarish at the moment.</p><p>He remained partially clothed - shirtless but wearing trousers. He held me close to him. I'd never been so grateful that his core body temperature ran much lower than others'.</p><p>In the silence of the night, when neither of us could sleep, he whispered to me, "Christine, I almost lost you. Again."</p><p>My heart sunk. The heartbreak in his tone was enough to make me want to cry.</p><p>"But," he added, "I didn't."</p><p>I looked at him. He was wearing a blend of awe and fear and love.</p><p>He continued, "First you were poisoned. You survived. Then you were taken by the Echo. Nadir and I saved you in time. Then I refused to kill the Lotus, and when I'd thought you would be executed, you showed up at my cell with Ibrahim. And now, you somehow defy death once more in that Chamber." A ghost of a smile played at his lips. "Christine, I-" He paused, putting a hand on my cheek.</p><p>"You what?" I asked.</p><p>"I'm beginning to think maybe you lifted my curse." His smile grew. "I'm not even sure you can be killed."</p><p>I smiled back. "I don't really want to conduct any more tests to that fact."</p><p>"No." His answer was immediate. He pulled me in to his chest tightly, terrified by the thought of anymore immortality experiments. "Absolutely not."</p>
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<a name="section0098"><h2>98. The Aftershocks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>The next morning, I could walk without assistance.</p><p>We took Echo Hall to Nadir's house, but Erik whispered in my ear that, now, they'd have to do away with the Echoes. These secret halls would not be of use after we were gone.</p><p>He explained that the Prince now knew. Even if I hadn't burst through the wall, Nadir had explained everything to Izad. The reason behind the secret spies. The fact that Izad's father had put the system in place - but Nadir had to explain why the particular guards he'd chosen would not listen when the Shah gave a command. He also no longer wanted to be Daroga, no longer wanted to subject his Echoes to the life they lived.</p><p>The Echoes, now, would be released from their duties. They would be free.</p><p>But they also knew too many secrets, and so would be exiled, each to a different country. No one in Persia would ever know they existed. Any information they held would be mere hearsay if spoken aloud.</p><p>And, he told me, as we approached the house, Izad's first decision as Shah would be to do away with the Garden. The Flowers would be sent back home.</p><p>I'd stopped mid-step. I turned to look at him. He smiled. I felt relief well in my eyes - all those girls. All of them. They would be free as well.</p><p>He caught me and held me the moment I began to cry very, very happy tears.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - - </p><p>When we arrived through Nadir's study, we were both surprised to find him seated in his armchair, staring down at a large flat book. There were drawings in it - very good drawings. The sketch he currently looked at was of-</p><p>I blinked.</p><p>It was of Nadir. A very good likeness. But this Nadir was smiling, with genuine happiness in his eyes.</p><p>"Daroga," Erik said by way of greeting. He paused very briefly, looking at the drawing as well, before making his way toward the closed study door. Erik opened it. I made to follow, when-</p><p>"You were right," Nadir whispered.</p><p>We both turned to look at him, and to my utter shock, when he lifted his face, there were tears glistening on his cheeks.</p><p>Erik let go of the doorknob. The door remained open. "Nadir?"</p><p>"You were right. Both of you," he repeated. A tear fell onto the drawing. "It didn't make a difference."</p><p>"What didn't?"</p><p>"The Shah's suffering." His face contorted. "It didn't bring her back."</p><p>Rookheeya, I realized with a pang of sadness. His wife.</p><p>"It knew it wouldn't," he said, looking the very opposite of the drawing on his lap, "but now - now I have nothing to distract myself from this grief. I'd pushed it aside, focused on my hatred of the Shah - but it hadn't filled me. It only made me empty." He closed his eyes. "You were right. This wasn't the answer. If Rookheeya could see what I'd become-"</p><p>He sobbed, leaning forward, dropping the sketchbook to the floor, taking his spectacles off and putting his palms to his eyes. I went to the book quickly and picked it up. I put it on the table next to him, where he had a full glass of wine. A near-empty bottle too. When I glanced at Erik, his wide eyes reflected the shock I felt. The pity as well.</p><p>Nadir noticed what I was doing. He brought his shaking hands away from his eyes. "She was an artist like you, Christine."</p><p>I didn't say anything.</p><p>He shook his head. "Everything - all of this. So pointless." He stared down at his shaking hands, then clenched them. When he spoke next, his voice was loud, gravelly. "So pointless!" He picked up the bottle and threw it against the wall. It shattered, painting purple spots on the yellow walls. I started, backing up.</p><p>Erik sucked in a breath. "Nadir."</p><p>"I will never see her again! Ever! She is gone, and nothing I've done these past few years will ever change that. The Shah's death can't change that. Rookheeya - my Rookheeya-" He sobbed again. "What is the point? What is the point, if I've give my entire life to the purpose of avenging her, only for it to make me feel even darker, even emptier - why in Allah's name am I alive? Why-"</p><p>Erik left the room. 'Stay here,' he whispered in my ear.</p><p>And I think Nadir felt sorry for himself, thought that Erik was disgusted by his outburst, for he once again burst into tears.</p><p>I only stood, unsure what to say or do, as I watched this ruthless, cold, calculating man break apart completely in his grief. Watched as what really lay underneath came to the surface.</p><p>Erik at last arrived, and when I saw what was in his arms, I realized where he'd gone, and why.</p><p>"Nadir," Erik said softly. "Look."</p><p>The Daroga did. And his face went blank when he saw Reza.</p><p>"Father?" he said.</p><p>"Reza." Nadir's voice was a mere breath.</p><p>"Erik said you were sad."</p><p>The Daroga closed his eyes, more tears falling down his face.</p><p>"This is why," Erik said to him. "This is the point."</p><p>Nadir opened his eyes again, staring up at his son. He grimaced with emotion. "He looks more and more like his mother everyday." And then he stood. He opened his arms, and Erik paced Reza within them.</p><p>The Daroga gripped the only family he had left with all of his might, one arm under his legs and the other wrapped around his back. Nadir held himself together for a few moments more, then had to sit back down with the weight of his sobs. He buried his face into his son's shoulder.</p><p>After a few seconds, he brought his face up and kissed his cheek, bringing a hand to his head. "I love you, Reza."</p><p>Reza held on tight. Extremely tight. So tight that he seemed to squeeze even more tears from Nadir's eyes.</p><p>"I love you too, Father."</p>
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<a name="section0099"><h2>99. The Question</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>We went to my father in his bedroom.</p><p>He'd realized I was gone the night before. He'd panicked briefly, as I usually told him before I went anywhere, but he reasoned that, perhaps, Erik and I had reconciled. That I'd gone back to his chambers. To this day, I still have no idea how far my father suspected that Erik and I went in our affections. He'd asked me, once, between meeting Erik and now if I was sure I was "being careful" - I'd thought about the lambskins we always used, and decided that the answer is yes. He asked me if there was a second bed in Erik's apartments. The answer to that, technically, was also yes. He asked if I was using that other bed.</p><p>Again, the answer was yes - we hadn't used Erik's bed since the Echo incident.</p><p>He was satisfied, even though I felt a bit guilty that, though I was telling the truth, it wasn't the entire truth.</p><p>When he saw us come into his bedroom this morning, he looked relieved.</p><p>Until we sat down across from him. We told him what had happened. Erik had started doing most of the talking, and then I took over.</p><p>His smile, very quickly, disappeared.</p><p>He'd known about the Chamber. He'd been well-informed, by a combination of Nadir and Ibrahim and Erik - like me, there weren't many he could tattle to, knowing only French and Swedish, so Nadir was willing to divulge; I'd likely tell him anyway, if he didn't first.</p><p>What he didn't know, apparently, was that the Chamber required to people to operate. He didn't know that Nadir had planned to enter it. Had no idea, obviously, that Erik ultimately offered himself as a sacrifice.</p><p>But now, to hear that his daughter had entered-</p><p>"What in fresh Hell, Christine."</p><p>I felt myself redden. I wanted to reach out for Erik's hand - my father was rarely upset, but he did anger from time to time. This would no doubt, absolutely no doubt, stir some wrath within him.</p><p>"You refuse to see me all day - then not even a goodbye before you...you..." He whipped his gaze to Erik. "And you!"</p><p>Erik started, clearly not expecting the sudden tone directed at him. "Sir?"</p><p>"Not speaking to Christine for a week, then giving her a goodbye like that...I never-"</p><p>"I couldn't-"</p><p>"Well, clearly your plan wasn't the answer, was it, young man?"</p><p>Erik blinked.</p><p>"First," he said to me again, "you decide to go out walking through Paris, after dark, after I asked you, many times, not to. Now you're throwing yourself in harm's way without a single word to me...after I trekked all the way into this country...and not a single note, a sign, an embrace. Just a snap decision." He looked between us, furious. "Obviously, you were made for each other, making stupidly rash decisions like this."</p><p>"I'm sorry, Papa," I said softly. "There just...wasn't time..."</p><p>"No time?" He stood, face white. "No time to say goodbye to your father? No time to let him know he might never see you again - for a second time? Really, Christine!"</p><p>I looked down, shame hotter than the iron tree.</p><p>"The important thing," he said lowly, "I suppose, is that you are safe." He looked at Erik, lips pursed. "My daughter just sacrificed herself for you - after you abandoned her without explanation, and then gave her a book to read as a farewell. Do you understand that?"</p><p>"Yes, sir." His voice was a whisper.</p><p>"And you understand what a blessing that is?"</p><p>"Yes. I do. Of course."</p><p>"Good. Because if you didn't, I would recreate that Chamber and stuff you in there myself."</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>Over dinner, with Erik, my father, Nadir, and Reza in attendance, we began discussing the concept of going back to France.</p><p>The Prince, apparently, was being crowned in the morning. Izad would be Shah.</p><p>"The Persian Court," explained Nadir, cutting into his meat, "the entirety of Persia, in fact, was all too eager to accept Izad's explanation of what happened to his brother." He smiled ruefully. "One would almost think his nation didn't entirely love him."</p><p>I looked at Reza, whose food had already been cut for him. He was picking up a piece of meat with his fork and putting it into his mouth. I wondered if Nadir would be free in explaining all that occurred to his son, now, or if he would continue to be vague. Secretive. I wondered how safe it was now to speak of it to him.</p><p>"When will we leave?" asked my father.</p><p>"Two mornings from now," he responded.</p><p>I jolted. Two mornings. Two morning and I - we - would return to France.</p><p>I looked at Erik. At the shine in his eyes as he looked at Nadir. I knew what was in his had. He hadn't expected to go home. Hadn't expected to have a home to go home to. He'd seen marrying me, living a quiet life in France, as a pipe dream. A carrot to chase, but ever out of reach.</p><p>"Will we have an escort?" asked Erik. "Money?"</p><p>"Yes. Shah Izad will provide us funds."</p><p>"Us?"</p><p>Nadir cleared his throat and put down his fork, looking at all of us. "Yes. I plan to be your escort. I understand, from speaking with Monsieur Daae, that Paris is a lovely place to raise a child."</p><p>Erik let the words register, and then gazed at Reza with a look of adoration and relief.</p><p>He would get to keep all of his loved ones, after all.</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>After dinner, Erik took me up to the roof. Like all those nights ago, he'd brought wine. And a blanket. One, this time.</p><p>We laid side by side, watching the stars. Taking in the sounds and sights and smells, taking in the beauty. The night's beauty, and each other's.</p><p>"Christine."</p><p>I looked at him. "Yes."</p><p>"I have a question for you. A request."</p><p>I turned to him, on my side. "Anything."</p><p>"I asked you a while ago, but...now-" He went to the pocket of his robes and brought out a small box. He sat up, holding his hand out for me. I took it and he pulled me up too.</p><p>Then he opened up the box to reveal a beautiful, sparkling diamond ring.</p><p>My hands went to my mouth.</p><p>"Ibrahim fetched it," he explained. "At first, he tried to get the most gaudy-"</p><p>"Yes," I squealed</p><p>Erik stared at me, then smiled and laughed, pure happiness in the sound. "I haven't even asked you-"</p><p>"Then ask!" My hands shook. "Ask!"</p><p>"Hm." His grin widened. "I don't know. I think I like watching you like this - completely possessed with joy. I think I'll delay the question-"</p><p>"Erik!"</p><p>"Oh, Christine, how do I love thee," he mused, looking away from me, gazing at the ring in the box. "Let me count the ways."</p><p>"Erik-"</p><p>"Let me count them slowly. One-"</p><p>"Erik."</p><p>He looked at me, raising a hairless brow, amusement in his green and brown eyes. "Yes?"</p><p>I pulled his face toward mine. His smile disappeared, replaced by a sudden hunger as he took in my eyes. My lips.</p><p>"You talk too much sometimes, did you know that?" I asked him, too close to his mouth.</p><p>He let out a needful sound, closing his eyes. I pressed my lips to his. And kissed him, deeply. He clutched me against him with his free hand. We lost ourselves in the stars - the ones above and the ones twinkling in our souls.</p><p>When we were both breathless, he at last pulled away.</p><p>"Christine," he said in his beautiful voice, "will you marry me?"</p>
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<a name="section0100"><h2>100. The Promise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This has been an incredible journey, and I loved writing every moment of it</p><p>Thank you to everyone who have come with me to the end.</p><p>Enjoy :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-----Christine-----</p><p>We'd marry in a French church. I'd buy a beautiful white dress - he would wear a suit. And we would create a life. A lovely, quiet, wonderful life, as a married couple.</p><p>But we had to get there first.</p><p>The night before we were set to leave, Ibrahim and Shah Izad came to Erik's rooms.</p><p>To, of course, say goodbye.</p><p>I'd begun to cry with the realization that I'd likely never see Ibrahim, the Grand Vizier and my closest platonic friend, again.</p><p>"Oh, Christine," he said, embracing me, "I will write every week. You might not get them for a month or so, but I will write."</p><p>"I will write, too," I whispered. "I'll never forget you."</p><p>"I will not forget you, either." He turned to Erik, who was watching with a bittersweet expression. "Nor you, my friend. Congratulations to you both - for your engagement and for your escape."</p><p>"Thank you. And no, I will never forget you." Erik smiled. "How could I forget a massive needle in my side?"</p><p>Ibrahim laughed. "But you will miss that needle when it is gone, yes?"</p><p>Erik's smile became sad. "Yes. Always."</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>"You know that if we go to France," Erik said, late at night, beside me, "I will likely have to be a hermit."</p><p>I gazed at him. "What do you mean?"</p><p>"I doubt," he explained, reaching for my hand, "that I will be accepted very easily in polite society. With the mask on, people do stare, and they assume the worst about why I wear it. Without the mask, my face is frightening, to say the least - and many in France surely do remember the travelling show with the corpse-like boy...might ask questions if they see my face..."</p><p>"You're in luck," I said. "My father has hermit tendencies as well. So this won't be a problem at all."</p><p>"Perhaps not, but - well, what will I do once there? Sit in the house all day? My appearance is a problem - and so is, for that matter, my skillset. I don't know how to do much that could land me any kind of ordinary career."</p><p>"You know music."</p><p>He nodded. "I do know music."</p><p>"Write compositions."</p><p>"Who would buy them?"</p><p>"If my father played them," I said, "then who wouldn't?"</p><p>"And what about you?" He looked at me.</p><p>"What about me?"</p><p>"Will you sing?"</p><p>I smiled. "That could be interesting, actually."</p><p>"Interesting?"</p><p>"You write compositions, my father plays them, and I sing to the music. It would be a family career."</p><p>He smiled and kissed my forehead. "I like that. Truly."</p><p>"You could also play piano, if you'd like, to accompany him. If the mask is an issue...then we could all wear masks. Make it...make it a sort of signature-"</p><p>"No," he said softly. "No, I've had my fill of performing. I'd rather create. Create something good. Music for your father to play and you to sing is an excellent start."</p><p>- - - - - - - - - -</p><p>The following morning, we left Tehran. We began our journey back to France. Nadir. Reza. My father. Erik. Ayesha. Me.</p><p>Izad offered to take Nadir's service staff into the palace - offering, too, to double their salary for the inconvenience. Only Darius and Parvana were kept - Nadir was used to having a servant and wanted at least one on the journey to France. He could always hire more once there. And Reza would surely miss his nanny. Luckily, with the promise of a raise for them too, Darius and Parvana agreed to the move as well.</p><p>It would take time, I think, for me to warm to Nadir. To see if he'd actually had a change of heart. I think Erik felt the same. We were both just happy to have Reza stay in our lives.</p><p>We rode in a coach, side by side, watching the boy talk excitedly to my father. He'd been a bit frightened of the journey, at first, at the suddenness of it (Nadir, no doubt, had been quietly planning this move for a while, should he have survived this long) but when my father painted pictures with words for Reza of what Paris would be like, he'd brightened. Besides, his loved ones would be with him.</p><p>"And that is all that matters," Reza said, smiling.</p><p>I turned to Erik. He nodded at me, wrapping an arm around me.</p><p>Reza was right.</p><p>Erik, my father, and I had all come to Persia with uncertainty. Loneliness. Fear.</p><p>But now, on our return, we had each other.</p><p>We'd always have each other.</p><p>I knew the journey would take a long time, but we had all the time in the world.</p><p>The rest of our lives, in fact.</p><p>Because home wasn't a place. It wasn't Paris - not really, not anymore. It was wherever Erik and my father were, combined with the promise of peace and hope and love. That was where I was safe and happy.</p><p>So though we were so far away from France, after all this time, I was finally home.</p><p>~Fin~</p>
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